


So... He's A Seungprentice?

by TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard



Series: The Luckiest Witch On Thirteenth Street [2]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Angst, Comedy, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fantasy, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, M/M, Magic, Mystery, Platonic Relationships, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Urban Fantasy, Witches, they might actually kiss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2020-09-07 06:17:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20304835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard/pseuds/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard
Summary: The PROS of having an apprentice:1) Being invited to attend the prestigious Winter Solstice Gala with the most unlikely date.2) Having someone around the shop to actually help you run the shop. (Surprise!)3) Being taught the ins and outs of hand-holding.... errr, palmistry.4) BEING ABLE TO TAKE A DAY OFF!! ...Kinda sorta. Maybe. Possibly. That's the plan!!!5) No longer being on the verge of losing your job.The CONS of having an apprentice:1) Having one (or two or three) more mouths to feed during Winter Solstice celebrations.2) Getting a crash course in surviving a dragon's Terrible Twos!!!3) Thwarting a maniacal villain's attempts at taking over the District (......again.)4) Falling to the bottom of a (SUPER DUPER SCARY!) backpack.5) Catching the attention of The Strongest And Most Talented Witch In The Whole Country.





	1. Previously

Bang Chan had been a witch’s apprentice when he was younger. Of course he had. Everyone who desired to become a witch needed to train under a professional for numerous months before even being qualified to graduate from their university. 

Chan had done the hard work and put in the long, long, long hours of study. Not just for his university classwork but also the additional field research for the witch he practiced under. All of the plant identification drills. All of the herb collecting. The potion brewing. The cauldron maintenance. Relearning the fundamentals of broom flying by spending hours measuring distance and calculating velocity and memorizing all of the other math that went into it. There was reconnecting with the Big Blue Bird on a spiritual level. There were those weeks he had to study additional languages. And all of the numerous, mind-numbing daily tasks that he thought was simply useless busywork until he had an _ aha! _ moment his third year of university and realized that everything--even the mundane bits of it--was a lesson.

It wasn’t just magic he was learning but business. Patience. Communication. Bargaining.

There was far more to being a witch than simply holding a wand and reciting poetry and it took him a while to discover that.

Perhaps he wasn’t a _ fantastic _ apprentice but he had been an apprentice nonetheless. Chan had passed all of his government tests, made it through his exit interviews and met all of the necessary parameters. He had even managed to get an academic essay of his printed in a published journal! A publication from a small press with modestly low circulation, but an academic journal. Still! 

He’d done Sunmi proud. She had cried and hugged him when she said it so she must have meant it.

And he’d accomplished all of that not too long ago, in the grand scheme of things... but, when Chan sat too still and gave himself too much time to think about it, it had been _four_ _years_ since he’d graduated from university.

Years!

Four of them! 

Already!

...already.

The Big Blue Bird had a pretty nasty habit of continuously moving the flow of time forward whether you wanted her to or not. Whether you needed some time to breathe or not.

Quite often, her love of movement could be… a challenge.

Yet, in all challenges, there could be lessons and growth and change. That’s what Sunmi always taught him.

Yes. Sunmi could be cold and brimming with hubris but her wisdom still clung to Chan. Even now. She was strong-willed, picky and cared more about buying the latest handbags than most other things magic-related, but she had been the one witch to take Chan on as an apprentice and he would always be grateful to her for that.

All of the memories weren’t exactly pleasant but the experience had shaped him. Molded him. He’d been a scared little country boy in way over his head, absolutely lost amongst the towering maze of metal and stone and glass of the big city. Seoul was this large, frightening monster to him. Her confusing one-way streets were her claws. Her convoluted public transportation systems were her teeth. Her people were cold, ruthless and materialistic, always in a rush to _ be somewhere else _. It took a while, nearly the whole four years he’d attended university, but the speed with which the city moved settled into Chan as well. No more lazy afternoons reading with his father on the back porch. Chan always had to be walking. He always had to be working. He always had to be doing something or else he was flooded by the anxiety that came with believing he was wasting time. 

Perhaps it was the unresolved trauma from his mother’s sudden passing that constantly hung above his head like a dark shadow--especially late at night before bed--but at the back of his mind, there was always the very blunt truth that everything and everyone has an expiration date. 

Bang Chan couldn’t escape the feeling that his time was limited so he pushed himself hard in _ everything _ in hopes of doing all he could before the opportunity was taken from him. All-nighters became common to him. Pushing himself to the limits of his stamina was the norm. An unhealthy norm, but still. If he wasn’t comparing himself to his classmates, he was comparing himself to the apprentices that Sunmi had trained before him. He didn’t even want to be the best! That was asking for too much. He just wanted to be _ okay _. He just wanted to be competent. Memorable. Worthy.

He just wanted to stand a fighting chance in the 'real world' his parents warned him so much about.

There had been days when he had purposefully scheduled things so that he attended morning classes at the university, hopped on the subway uptown to put in a few hours at his apprenticeship in the afternoon and _ then _ picked up a graveyard shift at his part-time job only to start the cycle anew the next day.

All in the name of productivity.

All in the name of pleasing his professors, breaking even with his classmates, impressing the coven, tending to Sunmi’s strict demands without stepping on her pride.

Taking on such a burden was… tough, and it became common for Chan to ask the Big Blue Bird for strength. She had been gracious and generous. She gave him what he needed because he made it through all of that. But when he completed his apprenticeship and graduated from university, he continued to carry the burden of all of that stress with him. He told himself, over and over, that he wasn’t fit to have an apprentice of his own. He wasn’t good enough. The months and months he spent unemployed taught him that. His dwindling savings taught him that. The constant life updates from his far more successful classmates on Witch-tagram taught him that. 

He couldn’t even hold his own in Seoul’s cruel, frigid clutches. How could he train someone else to face all of that? Even when the hard times eased up, even when he somehow became District Witch, he still held on to that belief. He convinced himself that he wouldn’t be the reason some young, bright-eyed witch gave up their hopes and dreams and time and money and _ sleep _ to study under him. 

Chan didn’t want to be the reason some young witch gave up everything to work for him. 

He didn’t want to be the reason some young witch gave up everything.

He didn’t want to be the reason some young witch _ gave up _.

Like he’d nearly given up.

So when a young, bright-eyed witch-in-training propped his hands on his hips and loudly declared, “Chan, I wanna be _ yer _ apprentice!” Chan could only sit there stunned. Lost. And maybe a little sad.

His mind buzzed with a swarm of dark thoughts as he recalled how tough he had it in his own training, in his own schooling. He had barely made it out of that! How could he take care of someone else when he could hardly take care of himself? When he could barely keep his tiny little store from going bankrupt? When he had been told that the coven had been _ this close _ to firing him from his job?

Chan swallowed hard. The weight of responsibility was so heavy. He couldn’t even shrug beneath it. “Ummm…” He choked out.

Everyone in the shop looked at him expectantly.

There was Woojin, with his coiffed hair and his arms folded across his chest and his face a blank and unreadable mask.

There was Jisung, the brat, with his elbows propped up on the old shop’s cash wrap, widening his eyes further and further with impatience as Chan took his sweet time collecting his thoughts.

There was Hyunjin, gazing over at Chan with his mouth wide open in awe like the District Witch had plucked one of the Big Blue Bird’s feathers from the sky and put it in his hat.

There was Felix, half-asleep in Hyunjin’s arms, looking four good seconds away from a cat nap.

...and then there was Seungmin. The boy who had driven all the way from Jeju Island to chase after his goal. The boy who had gone from door to door to door, searching Seoul for the one light he wanted to follow through the dark night. Seungmin. So bold and loud and colorful despite the all-black outfit he wore. His smile could rival the brightness of the early afternoon light pouring in through the windows from outside.

“So whaddya say?” Seungmin’s eyes sparkled with all of the hopes and dreams that it was possible to hold inside of them. “You gone let me sign all that there fancy schmancy paperwork and lemme be yer apprentice?”

Chan opened his mouth to speak but found his voice trapped in his chest. He raised a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat. 

The silence in the shop stretched thinner than snowflakes.

Chan had one opportunity to get this right.

“Seungmin,” Chan said cooly, calmly. He needed to be firm or this would not work. “Seungmin… I don’t do apprentices.”


	2. Resting Witch Face

_ I don’t do apprentices. _

Such a final-sounding phrase planted itself deep into the thickening tension in the air. The words sprouted leaves then grew and grew in size, reaching all the way up to the dusty rafters. All the way up to the sloped, wooden slats of the A-frame roof. Even the noise of pedestrian chatter and car traffic from outside the shop became muted as the silence transitioned from confused to conflicted to… awkward. He’d said the wrong thing, hadn’t he? Perhaps not wrong. Just wrongly-timed. Chan watched as everyone’s smiles slowly disappeared. 

Woojin smoothed down the front of his spiffy, black and white houndstooth jacket.

Jisung ran a hand through his nuclear orange hair, eyes darting back and forth anxiously.

Felix dozed off in Hyunjin’s arms with the quietest snore, tail swaying like a metronome.

Hyunjin poked out his bottom lip as he sensed that something not nice had just been said.

Seungmin tilted his head.

Several seconds passed. The grandfather clock in the corner tick-tock tick-tocked away.

Regional Manager Kim Woojin cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Can we discuss this more thoroughly before we rush and make any long-lasting decisions?”

To that, Chan replied, “There was no rush. I’ve been thinking about this since I became a witch. Since I passed my own apprenticeship.” Perhaps if he was a better witch, he’d be more willing to teach a student. But as it stood, he wasn’t sure an apprentice would have anything to learn from him. “I made the decision long ago.”

Woojin thought about it. “Isn’t he the only witch who has ever wanted to be your apprentice?”

Chan tensed and wrung his hands in his lap as Woojin’s words clawed across his skin.

Even Jisung winced. “Dude.”

Woojin realized, far too late, how awful his words sounded. “I apologize. Really, Chan. I didn’t mean to word it like that. That’s not what I meant.”

But it was true. Chan glanced down at his hands, tugging on his fingers until the joints popped. “Technically, Hyunjin wanted to be my apprentice.” Of course, Hyunjin couldn’t be an apprentice as he wasn’t a witch. “But it’s not like I wanted him to be my apprentice, either.” Chan looked up and then took a moment to swat his silver curls out of his face. Everyone’s eyes were on him and he was beginning to get uncomfortable beneath the weight of their stares. The District Witch put some sharp-edged resolve in his voice. “I don’t do apprentices.”

Woojin lost a bit of his composure. “But… But! Hold on. What about the additional payroll hours I’ve allocated to you? They should be in the employee system by the start of next week. There would be very little administrative hold-ups hiring an apprentice. It should actually be convenient.”

“Woojin,” Chan started, “my choice has nothing to do with how many hours you’ve budgeted for me.” It had everything to do with the fact that taking on an apprentice was too large and scary of a responsibility to accept just because it was _ convenient _ . “The cons simply outweigh the pros,” he said. Chan already had Hyunjin to raise and take care of. And, apparently, Jisung had moved himself into Chan’s house within the past few days as well. How could Chan look after someone _ else _ on his own? Just a week ago, he’d lived alone and only had to look after himself. “I’m still new. This is a lot for me. Okay? There’s already so many things on my plate at the moment that I have to-”

Woojin cut him off. “Isn’t this the perfect opportunity? This is what an apprentice is for, Chan. You say you have a lot on your plate but an apprentice can help alleviate your burdens just like you alleviate their burdens. Perhaps a generation or two ago, the connection would be more one-way, but nowadays, an apprenticeship is a _ partnership _. A family you get to choose. Think about everything you’ve been through this past week. You clearly need help around the shop and an apprentice can fill that role.”

“The more the merrier,” Jisung declared.

Hyunjin imitated him excitedly. “The more the married!”

Chan let out a whoosh of air through his nose. He was starting to get tired of explaining himself. “I don’t need help. I have-” Hyunjin didn’t count. “-Jisung.”

“Hey, what about me,” Hyunjin protested.

Woojin didn’t even hesitate before saying, “Jisung is _ not _ help.”

“Hey!” Jisung complained. He slapped both of his hands down on the counter defiantly, narrowing his eyes in Woojin’s direction. 

“I’m helpful,” Hyunjin whined. “Don’t you always say I’m helpful?”

Jisung was still glaring daggers at Woojin. “You trying to start a hexing fight with me? You wanna take this out back? I’ll end you, old man.”

“I’ve already made my decision,” Chan made it known.

“You trying to hexing _ box _, chief?” Jisung feigned a lunge in Woojin’s direction.

Woojin had gotten too used to Jisung to take him seriously. The Regional Manager didn’t flinch. “It’s about to be Winter Solstice, Chan. It’ll be your first one as District Witch. Business will pick up considerably until the end of the month and carry on well into the new year. I’ve been doing this for a while and I know for certain that it will be too much for one person to handle on their own. Even in a small store like this one. It’s not weak to accept help, Chan. You will need an extra set of hands!”

“Channy-Bear,” Hyunjin sang out, rocking a dozing Felix back and forth in his arms, “why don’t you want an apprentice? Don’t you want to be friends with the whole wide world? The whole wide world wants to be friends with you! I want more friends. I want to be friends with him!” He nudged Seungmin with his shoulder. “He’s so nice, Chanikins. _ So _ nice.”

Seungmin, to his credit, at least looked a tad apologetic. His face flushed with color as he watched everyone hound Chan. “I ain’t mean to sic em all on ya like this and I definitely don’t mean to join on in, but… I drove all this way. Across the whole country. I _ did _ spend all night and half the day lookin’ for ya, Chan. If you could just give it a second thought...”

Chan squeezed his eyes shut. This was what he meant! This was the problem he always faced. Even when he said what he needed to, no one seemed to understand him. Even when he made clear boundaries, everyone hopped over them with ease. The District Witch blinked open his eyes and turned to Seungmin. He repeated, even more loudly than before, “I don’t do apprentices.”

Seungmin took the rejection far more lightly than Chan would have expected. In fact, he looked… _ relieved _. Seungmin leaned in close. “Let’s keep this ‘tween ya and me, Chan,” he whispered loud enough for everyone gathered around to hear, “ya ain’t really my type so I don’t wanna do ya, either.” 

Woojin’s jaw dropped.

Jisung barely held back a laugh at the dirty joke.

Felix startled awake with a scratchy mewl.

Hyunjin didn’t get it. “Hmm? Do you? What kind of game is that?”

“Seungmin,” Chan said. “Great Big Blue, that’s not what… I don’t actually-”

Seungmin beat him to it. “I wanna keep our relationship professional if that’s alright with ya.”

Chan sat up a little straighter, completely flustered. “That’s not what I meant!”

His reaction made Seungmin laugh. “And I’m just jokin’ with ya. Just tryin’ to lighten the mood.” Seungmin took a step or two back. He pulled his witch’s hat off of his reddish hair and ran a hand through the shoulder-length locks. He looked pensive, maybe even disappointed, but he put a smile on anyways. “I hear ya, Chan. I hear ya. I want to be with ya but I ain’t gone make ya take me if ya ain’t wanna have me.” He dipped his head in a respectful bow. “Thank ya for the opportunity.”

That was... unexpected. The tension eased out of the District Witch’s spine, serving as a reminder of just how stiffly he’d been holding himself up until then. Chan sagged against the counter. “I’m so happy that you understand.”

Woojin’s mouth hung half-open with an argument he couldn’t force past his tongue.

Jisung’s face seemed to turn a little pale, as if _ he _ were the one being rejected for an apprenticeship instead.

Felix grew bored of being held. The cat wrestled himself free of Hyunjin’s grasp and leaped to the shop floor, slipping soundlessly down one of the aisles and out of sight.

Hyunjin pouted and sniffled, though it was unclear if he was sad because Felix had left him or because Seungmin might leave. After a moment, he spun around and followed Felix to the other side of the store.

Another silence fell over them but at least it wasn’t as painful.

“Seungmin,” said Jisung, “since you _ did _ come all this way, will you... stay?”

“Here?” Seungmin pointed to the floor, confused. “In the shop?”

“No, in the District,” Jisung clarified.

“I guess.” Seungmin smoothed down his hair with one hand before propping his hat back on his head, tilting the wide brim just so. “The area’s pretty beautiful with all the snow. You can see the forest if you look one way and the skyscrapers if you look the other way. It’s nifty. I still gotta find a place to live and all, but I like it out here. I’ll stay.”

Jisung gasped so hard he nearly choked. “That means you’re a new resident!”

“I… guess.” Seungmin looked over at him, confused. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

“You have to offer our good ole District Witch here your name and a gift.”

“Why?”

Walking Encyclopedia Kim Woojin spoke up. “It’s Seoul custom. Originally, the tradition was meant as a form of census. The District Witches logged all of the names and addresses of their residents as the main method of keeping track of changes in the population. In modern times, though, with the coven’s higher echelons handling such social functions, the offering of a name and gift to a District Witch is still present but you could say that it is more of a formality. A polite and proper introduction, if you will. A way for people who are new to the area to become acquainted with and comfortable around their leader.”

“No one hexing asked you,” Jisung huffed. “He wasn’t talking to you. He was talking to me!”

“Don’t be rude, Jisung,” Chan said firmly. “Apologize.”

Jisung groaned petulantly. He folded his arms across his narrow chest and made everyone wait for several seconds as he debated on being obedient or not. Eventually, he said, “Sorry, chief.” He may have even meant it.

Woojin rolled his eyes but… he was smiling? “So you _ do _ possess common courtesy?”

Jisung bared his teeth. “I’ll common courtesy you upside the head if you don’t-”

“Anyways.” Chan got them back on track. “Closer to the center of the city, where there’s a higher number of people moving out of or into a District, the gift giving is kind of impersonal. It’s limited to things you can put in a designated shipping box and send through the post. They don’t even require a letter. Out here, though, I quickly discovered that everyone still likes to do things face to face. Everyone still likes to write things by hand.”

Seungmin’s eyes lit up with recognition. “Now wait a feathered minute!” 

The rather colorful language made Woojin’s eyes go wide in shock.

“What,” Chan prompted. “What did you figure out?”

“The gift thing!” Seungmin grinned excitedly, snapping his fingers as he put the puzzle pieces together. “When someone new comes ‘round and plans on stayin’ on the island, everyone in the village gets together and throws ‘em a big welcome party. It’s kinda rare when somebody comes to Jeju to stay instead of visit so we treat it like something special. There’s singin’ and dancin’ and eatin’ and gift givin’. My mama’s usually in charge of dessert. Her pastries are the best.”

Chan came up with a decent comparison. “The execution is a bit different, but they are both ways to say that we’re all neighbors.”

“Well lookie there,” Seungmin agreed.

“Isn’t that something,” Jisung said. “We’re hexing connecting.”

Woojin hummed thoughtfully. “So you aren't entirely left out of the loop that far south?”

Seungmin frowned at that. He hooked his eyes in Woojin’s direction. “It ain’t like we’re living in the stone age out there. It ain’t like we’re not on no map.”

“Okay, okay,” said Chan, stepping in to smooth things over. “We’re halfway through the process. I already know your name, Seungmin. It’s not like this is the first time we’ve met.”

“That leaves me with the gift givin’ part, then. Huh?” Seungmin raised a hand to scratch his temple as he put some thought to it. When that wasn’t enough, he paced back and forth to really get the juices flowing. After nearly an entire minute, he said, “I ain’t got nothin’ on hand I’d ever think is good enough to be givin’ as a gift.” Something on one of the store’s shelves caught his eye and he stopped pacing to point it out. “How much is one of them there things?”

Chan sat there stunned.

Jisung said the very thing Chan was thinking. “You can’t give him something you bought from him. That’s not how it works.”

“The more personal the gift, the better,” Woojin suggested. “Are you particularly artistic or crafty? You can always make him something.”

“I can cook,” Seungmin supplied. He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling as he deliberated. “I’ve got plenty of ingredients in the back of the truck I can use. Fruits and veggies from the greenhouse. Herbs. Bread. Cheese. Everything everybody back home gave me before I left.” He looked back down and met Chan’s eye. “Give me like an hour or two or three and I can whip up all my specialties for ya! Consider that my gift.”

A hot meal _ did _ sound nice. But there was one major problem. “There’s no stovetop in the shop. Not even a hot plate,” Chan said. He had worked there for nearly six months but he still looked around as if to double-check. “The workshop down the hall doesn’t even have a fireplace for a cauldron.”

“Hey, we’ve got that big hexing kitchen at the house that literally none of us know how to use,” Jisung pointed out. “Just set Seungmin loose in there.”

There was a problem with that idea, too. “My house is still buried under an actual mountain of snow. What if the roof collapses?”

This made Woojin stand up ramrod straight. “I forgot that. I can’t believe I forgot that!” He fished around in his numerous pockets until he found his cell phone. “It’s Sunday but I still think I can organize a task force to work on that immediately. Please excuse me.” Woojin stepped down one of the aisles to make a call, his dress shoes clicking rhythmically on the hardwood floor.

With the shop closed for business on Sunday, Chan wondered how he’d eat up the hours between now and when his home became usable again. Perhaps he could write up a few reports?

Jisung wasn’t ready to let their discussion go. “Where else would have a kitchen?”

“I don’t know. Everyone I can think to ask lives with me.” Chan could always ask Yongbok, but the boy hadn’t shown up at the shop today. He _could_ also ask Woojin but the last thing he wanted to do was impose any further on his boss’s boss. He’d caused the man enough trouble in the last week already. “Would the deli diagonally across the street let us use theirs?” But even as Chan said it, he knew the suggestion was silly. “Probably not, right?”

“Really,” said Seungmin. “Y’all ain’t gotta go through all this trouble just for me. I can come up with something else. Something that don’t require steppin’ on nobody’s toes.”

Jisung scoffed. “It’s no trouble. I’m never going to turn down free food. I’d swim the length of the Han River for free food.”

More than likely true, but that still raised the question. Chan asked, “Where is Seungmin going to cook? Who has a kitchen that we can just use? I can’t think of anyone else.”

“Chancey Pants,” Hyunjin screeched from the other side of the store. “Look, look, look!” 

Chan rushed around the counter, jostled Jisung out of his way and half-jogged down one of the aisles in a mild panic, unable to imagine what trouble Hyunjin had gotten himself into. “Oh no. What is it?” Chan reached the end of the aisle but Hyunjin didn’t look like he was in distress. “What’s the matter?”

“You have to look!” Hyunjin grabbed Chan by the wrist, yanked him forward and pointed excitedly out the big window. There was a big grin on his face and his eyes were all wide and slightly sparkly with the Big Blue Bird’s early afternoon light. “That super nice guy is coming this way really really really fast. He must want to say something to you again! Isn’t that nice?”

It took a moment for the District Witch to figure out who Hyunjin was referring to, but before he could even utter the name, before he could even squint through the daylight outside and spot the man with his own eyes, Minho burst through the shop’s front door. The bell jangled noisily above his head as he stood in the doorway fuming, cool December air rushing in after him.

This could not be good.

“District Witch,” Minho shouted. He looked around until he spotted Chan and Hyunjin by the window. “I should have known you were the cause of this!” He made a beeline towards them, his chunky ankle boots pounding out a heavy rhythm.

“The cause of what,” Chan asked. His teeth chattered in the chill that Minho had brought in with him. “I haven’t done anything.” He hadn’t even left the shop! He took a step back to put some space between him and the quickly approaching Minho. When that didn’t deter the man, Chan raised his hands in surrender and took an additional step back, only to run right into Hyunjin. “Sorry, Hyunjin.”

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin said. He took the opportunity to drape his arms over Chan’s shoulders from behind. “You’re warm.”

At last, Minho closed the distance between them. “Everything that goes wrong on this street-”

“Minho, you don’t have to yell,” Chan scolded him.

Surprisingly, Minho clamped his mouth shut. When he started again, it was at a much lower volume. “You and your little…” The frustration visibly left his face. “You keep doing this to me. I’m starting to think it’s on purpose.” Minho looked Chan in the eye, unblinking, as if he were searching for something. As if he were waiting to _ see _ something. He must not have found it--or perhaps he _ had _ found it--because he hurriedly looked away.

“I promise you,” Chan said, “whatever you think I’m doing to you, it’s by complete and total accident.”

Minho sighed, still looking at the floor. “And I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

Hyunjin giggled. “Aww, look, Chan.” He shook the District Witch excitedly. “He’s melting. Just like the Ice Prince. Just like the bedtime story!”

“What are you chattering about now?” Minho rolled his eyes at Hyunjin's antics. He then took one more step towards Chan. They were standing face to face, witch hat to witch hat. “No matter. Let’s get back to what’s really important here.” Minho smelled like he had just washed his hair. Sharp like pineapples. Sweet like papaya. But beneath it was the faint smell of sweat. A light hint of musk. It was a little bit of realness beneath Minho’s ball-jointed doll prettiness. Chan wondered what he smelled like to Minho. Then he wondered why he would wonder that. 

Chan tried again. “What extremely small inconvenience are you blaming me for this time, Minho?”

“Extremely small? Why, I never. This is major. You’re always disrupting my business.” Minho pointed out the window in the general direction of his shop across the way. “There’s a truck parked on the sidewalk in front of my door. It’s blocking foot traffic and I know it’s your fault.”

Chan relaxed into Hyunjin’s hold on him and, in response, Hyunjin bit into Chan’s shoulder through his sweater affectionately. Chan said, “Minho, I don’t own a truck. I can’t even drive.” 

“That truck is still your fault. I just know it. I can _ feel _ it.”

“It’s not,” Chan insisted. “Where would I have gotten a truck from? How could I afford one? And why would I use it to block your door of all things instead of, I don’t know, using the truck as a truck and carrying something with it somewhere?”

“I don’t know, Chan. I don’t know, either, but I know you had something to do with it.”

“Minho, please.” Chan noticed that Minho’s hair _ was _ particularly shiny this morning. It was combed excessively neatly save for one stray lock of hair that stuck straight out behind Minho’s right ear. It bothered Chan a little. He wanted to reach out and smooth it down but he didn’t. He couldn’t. His fingers would get chewed off if he tried.

“If this is related to you in any shape, form or fashion, I’ll… I’ll… I’ll!” Minho couldn’t even formulate a threat.

“Wait, that’s _ my _ truck y’all talkin’ ‘bout,” Seungmin hollered from up the aisle. 

Both witches startled. Turned. Watched him as he approached. Seungmin pushed his way in between Chan and Minho, forcing them apart, to look out the window at the blue pickup truck across the street.

Seungmin yelled, “I parked there. That’s me! I did that!”

Minho frowned. He pointed at Chan. “See? Your fault. What did I tell you?”

Now that Chan was looking, Seungmin had parked _ extremely _ poorly. Probably even illegally. No. Definitely illegally. He hadn’t actually parked as ‘parking’ would require a little bit of sense. Seungmin had merely stopped his truck halfway out across the street and halfway out across the sidewalk and left it there. “Seungmin,” Chan started. “You-”

“I know, I know.” Seungmin was already fumbling in the pockets of his black cardigan for his car keys. He found them and shook them in the air. “I didn’t think I’d be here for so long. I thought I’d just walk in, become your apprentice and walk back out real quick-like before I got towed.” Already, he was making his way towards the shop’s front door. “Be right back! Don’t go cow tippin’ without me!”

Minho watched the young witch leave the building before spinning back around to face Chan. “Apprentice?” His face was overtaken by surprise. An emotion _ beyond _ surprise. “You have an apprentice? _ You _ have an apprentice?” Minho shook his head in disbelief. “You’re a proper witch now, Chan.”

Chan propped his hands on his hips. “Wait. Are you saying that I’m an improper witch without an apprentice?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. Glad you’re keeping up. Wait!” Minho whirled around to look out the window. “I know who that is. That’s the loud, uncouth mongrel we met out in the woods the other day.”

Hyunjin gasped. He unwrapped his arms from around Chan and stepped towards Minho. “Uncool monkey? That sounds like a snack. Is it a snack? It would be wonderful if it was a snack.”

Minho scrunched up his face in displeasure as the dragon boy got close to him.

“Do you have any snacks?” Hyunjin stuck his hand in the front pocket of Minho’s shirt. He didn’t find any snacks. He shoved a hand into Minho’s pants pocket instead. “We don’t have any snacks. We ran out and Chan won’t get us any. I’m hungry. Do you have any uncle moneys?”

Chan grabbed Hyunjin by the collar of his shirt and pulled him out of Minho’s personal space. “Mongrels are not a snack, Hyunjin. It’s an insult. And, no, before you ask, an insult isn’t nice.” Although he was speaking to Hyunjin, he raised an eyebrow in Minho’s direction.

Minho ignored it. “Isn’t that boy supposed to be Yien Tuan’s apprentice? _ The _ Yien Tuan?”

“Yeah,” Chan began, “but-”

“Bird’s claws, I thought I told you back then that we shouldn’t get involved. That we should steer clear of all of this. If that witch finds out you snatched his apprentice--”

“Oooh,” Hyunjin slapped a hand over his mouth. “You said snatching was bad!”

Minho tried again. “If he finds out you snatched his apprentice, he’s going to come here and... make a mess of things.”

“I didn’t snatch him,” Chan groaned, he hooked his eyes in Hyunjin’s direction. “I didn’t snatch!”

Hyunjin seemed to believe him. He lowered his hand from in front of his face and gave Chan a tiny smile. “I knew you wouldn’t snatch. I knew the whole time.” 

Chan hadn’t snatched anyone. He hadn’t taken Seungmin in at all! Chan sighed wearily and looked back over at Minho. “Yien isn’t going to come here. He’s too important. He probably has a dozen other apprentices lined up.” He carefully left out the part where Seungmin had already turned Yien’s apprenticeship down. Had met the guy and rejected him to his face! Yeah, Chan definitely wasn’t going to say any of that. “Yien probably doesn’t even know Seungmin is here.”

It was like he hadn’t spoken. Minho kept on. “I didn’t think you had the balls to be so reckless, District Witch. I could understand targeting a small fry but you went straight for the big kahuna. Your courage flabbergasts me. Then again, you’ve found yet another way to bring calamity down on top of my head, so perhaps this is on brand for you. I shouldn’t be so shocked.” Minho exhaled deeply. He had been getting himself worked up but now he made himself relax, slouching rather inelegantly. “How quickly can I pack up and move out?”

“Hopefully soon.” Chan decided to use the opportunity. “I will help you pack. If we hurry, we can get you on a train by sundown.”

He paid no attention to Chan’s suggestion. Minho took a few steps to the side until he could lean against the glass of the big window. “Now that I have you here, the two of us do have something we need to properly discuss before I forget.”

“What is it now, Minho,” Chan asked. He didn’t even have to be told what this was all about but knew he was going to dread it.

“It’s about the letter I sent you. My request for help.”

Chan put his palms on Hyunjin’s shoulders and steered the tall boy towards one of the aisles. Fortunately, Hyunjin got the hint and skipped away.

“Kitty,” the dragon boy shouted, spotting Felix watching them from halfway down the aisle. He took off running, making the black cat cry out in panic and bolt for the hallway that led to Chan’s workshop.

“No running,” Chan shouted, but Hyunjin was already chasing Felix down the hall and out of sight.

With Hyunjin out of earshot, Chan turned back to Minho. “Your resident request.” The letter that he’d read in front of all of the others not even an hour ago. Minho’s unexpected confession of feelings. “I read it and I totally understand.”

“You… understand?” Minho looked hopeful. A smile danced at the corner of his lips before he fought it back. “I don’t believe it. Nothing’s ever that easy with you.”

“You wrote everything out quite plainly. It wasn’t too tough to get my head around.”

“Really?” Minho stood up off of the window and took one step and then another towards Chan. “So what are we going to do? What should _ we _ do?”

“It’s quite obvious,” Chan told him. “I’m not very experienced with these things so I may not be the best person to ask but I think you should just tell Changbin how you feel.”

“Ch-Ch-Changbin?” Minho frowned. “Bird’s claws,” he swore under his breath and backed away. 

Chan kept on. “I never would have guessed you liked him, considering how cold you can be with him sometimes but-”

“Chan,” Minho interrupted, “stop talking.”

“I know it’s embarrassing. It was probably really difficult for you to come to me and ask for help about it but you should just tell him you-”

“Chan,” Minho cut in again, “shut up.”

Chan got quiet. But not for long. “What are you going to do? Are you going to tell him-”

“I’m not going to tell Changbin anything because I have nothing to tell him.”

“Isn’t that… sad?” Chan couldn’t think of any other way to describe it. “What if he likes you, too?”

Minho pinched the bridge of his nose so hard that he left the crescent marks of his fingernails behind when he lowered his hand. “You are such a terribly awful influence, District Witch. I’ve just made the worst decision of my entire life.”

Chan gasped. “Huh? What decision is that?”

“Falling for-”

“Hey, Mean-ho!” Jisung skated down the aisle and skidded to a halt next to them. “Where do you live?”

“At my house,” Minho replied coldly, not even bothering to look in the orange-haired boy’s direction.

Jisung asked, “Do you have a kitchen at your house?”

“Do I have… a kitchen… at my house?” Minho repeated slowly.

“Do you?” Jisung pressed.

“Yes,” said Minho. He looked over at Jisung with an expression on his face like he had just bit into a lemon. “What is this about, you little hobgoblin? Are you going to ask if my refrigerator is running or something equally childish and distasteful?”

“I was just wondering-”

“No,” Minho cut him off.

Jisung huffed, “But I didn’t even finish asking!”

“Whatever it is, no.”

Jisung didn’t let that stop him. “Seungmin’s going to cook us food for free and we need a kitchen we can use.” 

“I’m not inviting a zoo of loud-mouthed hooligans into my peaceful, hooligan-free home.” 

“Hey, what did you hexing call me?” Jisung leaned into Minho’s face. “You wanna take this outside?” 

Minho put his pointer finger in the center of Jisung’s smudgy forehead and pushed the boy away. “You’re not coming to my house. I’d rather leave my door unlocked so thieves can loot the place.”

Regional Manager Kim Woojin came around the corner then. His phone was in his hand and a pleased smile took up the majority of his handsome face. “Good news, Chan,” he said, stepping forward with a confident stride. “I’ve mobilized a task force to recover your home from beneath that mountain of snow.”

“Oh, that’s just dandy,” Chan said, absolutely relieved. He wasn’t sure if he could handle another night of sleeping in the shop. It wasn’t a place made for sleeping.

Woojin announced, “They probably won’t be done with their work until around dinner time but that means you’ll be free for lunch, am I right?”

Chan thought about it. “I suppose. I actually hadn’t put too much thought into what I was going to do for lunch.”

“Good.” Woojin stashed his phone away in his jacket pocket, the gold ring on his finger glinting in the Big Blue Bird's light. “Would you like to join me for lunch?”

“Like… for a business meeting?” Chan asked.

“No,” Woojin stated. “Like a-”

Minho took a hasty step forward, putting himself ever so slightly between Chan and Woojin. “He can’t go anywhere with you,” the elegant witch spat out, “because he’s going somewhere with me.”

This caught Chan by surprise. Minho hadn’t mentioned anything about going somewhere. “Hmm? Where are you taking me?”

“To my house,” Minho answered.

Jisung gasped. “Do we get to use your kitchen?”

Minho chanced a glance over his shoulder in Chan’s direction, too quickly for the District Witch to notice. “This is going to be the absolute _ worst _.” 

“Yes!” Jisung screamed. “Yes! Free food! Let me go tell Seungmin.” He was already booking it towards the shop’s front door, the jangling bell signaling his exit.

Woojin balked. “But Chan-”

Minho used a hand to push the brim of his hat back a little to reveal more of the cross expression on his face. “Doesn’t someone as high-ranking as the Regional Manager have somewhere else to be?”

When Woojin tried to step around Minho to address Chan, the elegant witch leaned into his path and allowed his smile to become something far closer to a snarl.

Woojin got the hint. “You’re right,” he surrendered. “I do have quite the operation to oversee. Chan?”

“Yes,” the District Witch answered, entirely oblivious to the white-hot electric tension happening within arm’s reach of him.

“Perhaps we can talk some other time.”

Before Chan could reply to Woojin, Minho spoke for him. He looked Woojin in the eye and waved an arm in the direction of the shop’s front door. “Perhaps,” Minho said through his teeth. "Perhaps not."


	3. To Plant A Seed

With one last click, Chan locked the second bolt on the front door of his shop and stashed the ring of keys in his coat pocket. He had taken the time to make sure everyone was in their coats, scarves, gloves and other winter gear--he had told them all it was going to be  _ cold _ \--but the chill of the day still shocked him as it sank into his bones and stole the warmth from him. 

“Hopefully, Woojin’s team will be done before it’s too late in the day,” he mumbled. He kicked a clod of frozen snow with the toe of his boot and watched it crack into pieces. “Would love some hot chocolate in front of the fireplace tonight.”

Such things were necessary for this time of year. It  _ was _ December, he reminded himself, and Winter Solstice was but a week away. 

Winter Solstice. The beginning of lengthening days. The beginning of shortening nights. 

The start of new things.

“I want gingerbread cookies,” Hyunjin shouted excitedly. “Can we get gingerbread cookies? It would be super duper neat and awesome if we could get gingerbread cookies.”

“We’ll get gingerbread cookies,” Chan agreed. “On the way home.”

Hyunjin gleefully screeched, “Yay!”

Chan took a step back and stared up at the empty windows of his shop. At the ‘closed’ sign on the door. Even with the Big Blue Bird’s light shining down on the back of his neck, the shop would always look dark and unloved when it was closed... Until he found the time to decorate it for the season, that is. He would need to. Nothing complicated, though. He didn’t have  _ that _ much free time. Just a string of lights. And maybe a wreath for the door. And that would be it! There certainly wasn’t any space inside for a tree. Let alone other decorations. But if he decorated the shop, he may as well decorate the house, but--

He felt something brush against his boot. 

Chan startled out of his thoughts and looked down just in time to see Felix dart between his legs and take off running down the sidewalk.

“Felix,” Chan shouted after him. “Felix!”

The black cat did not slow. He only meowed back in a fashion that suspiciously sounded like “I smell fish!” before he leapt over a pile of shoveled-up snow and then kept running around the corner and out of sight.

“Felix! Fe--” Chan gave up. “Well… He’s not my cat. Not really.” It was best to leave cats to their own devices, he figured. Let them come and go as they pleased. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like a family member was missing whenever Felix wasn’t around. Movement out of the corner of his eye made Chan look over to his right. Before he knew it, warm and fuzzy emotions bubbled up in his ribcage and he found himself grinning. “Do you need help with those coat buttons, Hyunjin?”

“No. I got it. I can do it by myself,” Hyunjin proclaimed, shaking his horned head.

Chan decided not to tell him that he was doing up the buttons unevenly. The kid would have to learn on his own eventually. Right? 

Chan had just put his keys in his pocket but he patted his pocket again to make sure they were still there. Good. All things were where they should be. “That’s everything,” he mumbled to himself. Then, louder, “Does anyone know where Seungmin parked his truck? How are we all going to fit in it?” He turned around but was barely able to take a step before he bodily collided with Minho, knocking both of their witch hats askew. “Great Big Blue,” Chan startled and stepped backwards.

Minho readjusted the brim of his hat. “Do you have depth perception issues? I’ve been standing next to you for a solid minute.”

Chan said, “I thought you were still closing up your own shop?”

“Changbin did so already,” Minho explained. “And before you turn around and shriek like a banshee like you always tend to do when he’s around, he is standing on your other side.”

“Present,” Changbin called out, raising his hand.

Even knowing that it was coming did not stop the shock. Chan nearly jumped out of his skin. Honestly, truly, Minho’s apprentice had  _ not _ been there five seconds ago! Chan had just been looking that way to watch Hyunjin. Holding a hand to his chest and feeling his heart thrash wildly beneath his palm, Chan turned back to Minho. “He walks  _ very _ quietly. Hyunjin! Come back this way. You’re too close to the curb.”

“Okay,” Hyunjin sang out. He rushed back up to Chan’s side and pressed his face into the crook of Chan’s neck. “I’m hungry, Changry. When are we going to eat?”

“We’re about to leave right now.” Chan raised a hand and carded his fingers through Hyunjin’s short hair. Speaking of which… “Thanks, Minho,” Chan said, turning his head. “For inviting us over, I mean. Who would have thought finding a kitchen would be so difficult? Not everyone has one, I suppose.” He would have asked Woojin, honestly, but the man had left in such a hurry… He must have had something very important and Regional Manager-y to do.

“Hmph. Don’t think I’m being selfless. I won’t stand for being mischaracterized.” Minho shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “I’m being selfish and jealous and possessive by letting you and your strays do this. I’m properly staking my claim.”

Chan had no idea what he was talking about. “Hmm? Claim? What do you mean?”

Minho switched gears. “Don’t worry about it. Just know that I’m losing out on profit by closing up shop this early in the day so you  _ better _ be grateful to me if you know what’s good for you.” His eyebrows were furrowed and he was frowning as if trying to be mean, but there was something about his anger that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was... pretending. “There are so many other things I’d rather do with my time.”

Unfortunately, Chan didn’t see through the tough act. He dipped his head apologetically. “Sorry. Really, Minho.” 

“He’s so nice, Chan,” Hyunjin whispered into his ear. “ _ So _ nice.”

Changbin must have overheard him. “Trust me.” He nudged Chan in the side as if this were all something the District Witch should be privy to. “He usually doesn’t do things like this. I can’t remember the last time we’ve had company.”

“ _ We _ ?” Minho tilted his head in confusion. “You don’t live with me. You stay at the shrine.”

“But still…” Changbin huffed. Almost pouted. “As long as I’ve known you and you very rarely open your doors for anyone.”

An awkward silence. 

Minho didn’t exactly know where to look or what to say so he stared down at the toes of his boots in the snow.

Chan breached the silence with a smile. “You didn’t have to do this, Minho. I can’t thank you enough.” He thought about all of the other times Minho had (reluctantly) helped him. With the exploding bread. With the barghest. With his fever. “I always feel like I’m imposing.”

Minho kept his tone chilly like the wind gusting down the street. “Don’t worry yourself silly about it, District Witch. I  _ offered _ . It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity so do not get comfortable.” He raised his head and looked Chan in the eye. “Trust me. I will never willingly suggest something this preposterous again.”

Chan asked, “Then why did you suggest it  _ this _ time?”

Such a question caught Minho off guard. The elegant witch could only stand there and stare, wide-eyed, as if he’d been caught red-handed. “I…”

Fortunately, he didn’t have to find the words to explain himself because Seungmin pulled up to the curb right in front of them. All of the windows of his truck were down despite the frigid winter air. Seungmin hollered out the vehicle, “There ya are! Whatchu know that’s good?” His syllables stretched and stretched like taffy.

Chan winced at his volume. They weren’t standing _ that _ far apart.

Minho leaned towards Chan’s ear. “What did he just say?”

The District Witch was more concerned about the traffic law violation parked right in front of him. “You can’t stop on this side of the street, Seungmin. You’re facing the wrong-”

Seungmin went right on ahead. “I ain’t wanna get no parking ticket so this is ma fifth or sixth time drivin’ ‘round the block waitin’ on all y’all. What took ya?” He didn’t exactly give them time to answer. “Never you mind ‘bout that. Ya out here now and that’s what matters. Jisung’s already called shotgun so ya too late.”

Jisung crawled over Seungmin’s lap to poke his head out the window and wave. “Hurry it up, old man. My stomach is  _ empty _ and needs to be filled. I could eat a hexing horse.”

Hyunjin pulled away from Chan and rushed up to the old, rumbling truck. “It’s din-din time!”

“This is lunch,” Jisung corrected him.

“Then it’s lunch-munch time. I’ve never had horse before!”

“We aren’t having horse,” Chan told him.

That didn’t bother Hyunjin in the slightest. “We’re going to have the bestest lunch on the planet!”

“Not quite,” Seungmin told the dragon boy with a bright smile. “The food’ll still be a few lamb tail shakes. I ain’t started cookin’ squat diddly yet. We ain’t even got to where we goin’ yet.”

Hyunjin attempted to climb into the truck through the open window. He was tall enough to get the majority of his midriff inside but Jisung gently pushed him back out again. “You gotta use the hexing door, bro. That’s what it’s there for!”

“Okay!” Hyunjin reached for the driver’s side door handle.

“This door!” Jisung hollered, pointing to the passenger’s side.

Hyunjin bolted towards the curb.

Chan’s paternal instincts kicked into high gear. “Hyunjin! Don’t cross the street without-”

“There’s no traffic,” Jisung interrupted. “I’m hexing watching him.” Then, to Hyunjin, he said, “Come on, come on! While the bus is still at the light.”

Hyunjin didn’t need a second invitation. “Yay! We’re going for a ride!” He circled around the front of the idling truck and skipped out into the street. Jisung, fortunately, was quick with the door and had Hyunjin inside the vehicle before the city bus came rumbling past, horn blaring.

Chan could not relax until Hyunjin was seated and waved at him from inside. Chan relaxed so much, in fact, that he partially slumped against Minho.

Minho did not immediately pull away. Instead, the elegant witch motioned to the truck’s open windows. “Please tell me this thing has heating,” he complained.

“What about seats? Are there more seats,” Chan questioned, even though it was obvious that the old truck had no back seat and the only thing available was the already half-crowded bench seat.

Seungmin waved away their concerns with a flick of his hand. “Look. Ya either cram up in here like sardines or ya ride in the back with the crates.”

“Well, that settles it,” Minho said quickly. He started towards the curb. Towards the passenger side door.

“Hold on,” Seungmin said. “I’ve got something for you.”

Minho paused. Looked back. His entire face was tight with confusion.

Seungmin reached an arm out of the window and held a stick of gum in Minho’s direction. “Here you go, Chan. I swear to Bird this is from a fresh pack and not somethin’ I found stashed away in the cup holder just now.” When Minho didn’t immediately accept the foil-wrapped stick of gum, Seungmin waved it with a bit more vigor. “Chan, I swear! It ain’t poison.”

Minho swatted Seungmin’s hand out of his face. “Do you have prosopagnosia? I’m not Chan.”

“That’s Minho,” Chan introduced him.

“Oh!” Seungmin retracted his gum offering. His face flushed red. “Well stick a feather in ma hair and call me a tulip!”

Minho nodded as something clicked in his head. “This just makes perfect sense. Neither of you can see what is right in front of you. Now I get why you’re master and apprentice.”

Chan and Seungmin made eye contact. They weren’t master and apprentice. Seungmin looked away first, forcing his smile a little brighter as if he could outshine his own regrets. “My mistake. When ya stand right next to him, Minho, ya reflect his light.”

“I do who what when where?” Minho looked flabbergasted.

“He can see auras,” Chan told him. As if that explained everything.

“And when ya stand right next to him,” Seungmin repeated, pointing first at Minho and then at Chan, “ya reflect his light.” Then he gasped as he figured it out. “Like how the ocean reflects the light of the Big Blue Bird in the morning!”

“Like how the moon reflects the sun,” Changbin supplied, reminding everyone that he was still standing there.

Minho looked at Chan, mouth agape. He looked almost horrified at the prospect.

“What does that mean,” Chan asked, leaning closer to the open window and lowering his voice as if they weren’t supposed to be talking about this aloud.

“I have no earthly idea,” bellowed Seungmin, “but maybe it means he--” He jerked his chin towards Minho. “--is  _ supposed _ to stand beside you.”

Chan looked over at Minho, equally bewildered.

“Okay what does  _ that _ mean,” Minho asked Seungmin. Then he came to his senses. “Nevermind. Don’t answer that. Let’s just go before I regret this decision more than I already do.”

And with that, they all tried their best to squeeze themselves into Seungmin’s front seat. Fortunately, Minho informed them, his apartment wasn’t that far away.

☆★

Chan wanted to be just like his mother. Ever since he was a child.

He didn’t want to be like her just because of who she was as a witch but who she was as a person.

Everything about her just seemed to be magic.

Sure, his father was meticulous and brave and rational and taught Chan the value in working hard and saving face, but his mother was like the wind. Impossible to catch. Impossible to confine. Impossible to describe.

“I didn’t fall in love with her all at once like in the movies,” his father told him one evening. “I fell in love with her little bit by little bit.” He’d said all of this not too long after Chan’s mother passed so the man’s voice still got papery thin and his eyes got red-rimmed with unshed tears whenever he brought up his late wife. “She moved however she wanted to, however she cared, yet she always found herself at my side. Days passed. Weeks passed. Months passed. Before I knew it, I realized that I’d been in love with her all that time. I’d been in love with her since the two of us had first met. I just couldn’t see it.”

The wound of losing his mother was still fresh, still kept little Chan up at night, but he didn’t want to shy away from this. His dad rarely spoke of how the two of them had met and Chan wanted to be included. He wanted to know. “How did you figure it out? What’s the big clue when you want to know you’re in love?”

His father had cried, then. Tears full of sadness. Full of joy. Full of love. “I knew I was in love,” he choked out, “when I reached out my hand and she was always there to grab hold of it, son. I knew I was in love when I held her hand and I knew deep down that it would hurt me something fierce if she ever let go.”

Chan started crying too. “And did she ever let go?” He was positive that she had. She was no longer around.

“No, son,” his father said. He reached out and put his big, hairy hand on top of Chan’s silver curls. “She’s still holding on. Nice and tight.”

It would take a few years but Chan would learn what his father meant. His mother being gone would always hurt. There was no getting over it. But he would learn to live with it and that’s what would be important.

His parents had both been such bright, shining lights for him. Guiding him and raising him.

His father would spend most of the evenings after work reading. Whether it was the newspaper or a novel or a scientific journal or some gossip magazine, the man was always on the back porch reading. He wanted to know everything, he claimed. Whether it was about the body’s immune system, the world’s endangered species, the coven’s latest business ventures or the newest trends in witchcraft, he wanted to know about it. “I just want to be privy to things,” he would always say, even if, at that moment, he wasn’t privy to the fact that he was so engrossed in his reading that the food on the little grill next to him was burning and in need of flipping and it would take Chan’s mother aggressively clearing her throat for the old man to notice his mistake. Chan’s father simply loved to learn and he wanted Chan to look at the world the same way. As something to be treasured so much that Chan could appreciate all of its facts and figures.

But his father’s heart was big and soft. He could learn good things all day long but it was the tiny little bad things that stuck with him. The declining population of fairies. Inhumane dragon breeding. The rise of alchemy-related deaths. The terrible fire that ruined the old factory out where Chan’s mother used to live. How the coven’s attempts to protect and recover magical creatures probably wouldn’t be enough to save many species from extinction. 

Chan’s father was a strong man but he  _ crumbled _ beneath the weight of things that he could not change. Worrying over problems that weren’t his to solve.

Chan’s mother was so similar to her husband. Yet so different. She was so smart, but in ways Chan’s father wasn’t. Perhaps due to her specialty, she never allowed herself to be bothered by other people’s issues. Other people’s disasters. She stuck to herself, mainly, but that didn’t mean she turned away from those in need. She just had this  _ way _ of dealing with people, Chan remembered.

She never tried to hide the numerous streaks of silver in her hair. In fact, the many things that other people in town would have said were her flaws were the very things she kept in the spotlight: the gray in her hair, her height, her fortune-telling talent. Unlike her husband, who was interested in anything and everything, she only sought knowledge of a handful of things and cared very little for everything else. One of the main things she did not care about were the words and opinions of others. She never let the whispers and stares of the townsfolk dim the light she held and, every day, she attempted to teach Chan to carry his own light that same way. She knew exactly what she wanted and went after it with everything she had, regardless of the consequences and risks.

“You never know what day will be your last,” was her motto. “Well… I know. There are many people whose last days I can see and I just wish more people realized that none of us have enough time to fret and worry and be afraid of the things we aren’t used to doing. We should all just  _ live _ .”

And Chan wanted to be just like her. 

He wanted to be free like she was. See the future like she could. People came from all over the District… No, they came from all over the  _ city _ to have their fortunes read by her. Regardless of whether the fortunes were good or bad, full of light or full of shadow, whether she would break a heart or mend it, his mother had the same gentle way of smiling and delivering the news to whoever had to hear it.

Chan wanted to be like that. Like his mother. He grew up wanting to be unbothered by all of the terrible, sad things the world could hide in it.

But perhaps he was too much like his dad.

☆★

Chan always assumed Minho’s apartment would be clean, minimalist and modern. Elegant like the witch himself.

In other words, he was pleasantly overwhelmed when Minho unlocked his front door and pushed it open to reveal his apartment’s eclectic, cluttered decor. 

Hyunjin, Seungmin and Jisung jostled Chan aside in their haste to get their arms full of boxes and bags and cartons indoors. Changbin directed the boys towards the kitchen with a warning to be mindful of  _ that doozy of a loose floor tile _ .

“Shoes,” Chan yelled after them, toeing off his own boots and lining them up on the mat next to Minho’s front door.

Jisung un-velcroed himself out of his skates and none-too-gently chucked them aside. Seungmin doubled back to peel out of his shoes and place them next to Chan’s. Hyunjin kicked off one shoe and then the other but did not slow down for a second. Chan had to leap forward to keep one of the soiled things from smacking against Minho’s living room wall.

“No running,” Chan called after him.

“Okay,” Hyunjin shouted back, but he was too busy trying to keep up with Changbin to slow down.

Chan gathered up everyone’s shoes (or skates) and placed them next to his own in a neat row and then stepped back. He nearly ran into Minho in the process. 

“I promise I’ll clean up after them,” he said quickly.

Minho kept his mouth in a firm, straight line. “I checked the forecast. It is supposed to snow. I refuse to allow you all to get trapped here so you better be packed up and gone before the Big Blue Bird sheds even one snowflake.”

“Understandable,” said Chan.

Minho’s apartment was significantly smaller than the house Chan stayed in. A sleepover wouldn’t be nearly as comfortable or fun here. Chan shook his head and wondered why such a Hyunjin-like thought would creep into his head.

“You have a nice place,” Chan told Minho, more to break the silence than anything else.

His gracious host took off his witch hat and placed it on the hook next to the door. He made a motion with his hand. Chan took off his own witch hat and gave it to the elegant witch, who hung it on the hook next to his. Minho said, “Not as big as your place but at least I know how to decorate and make a place feel lived in.” 

There it was. Chan nodded to himself, acknowledging the fact that Minho had broken his own record for time between insults. They had sat knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder in the seat of Seungmin’s truck for nearly ten minutes without the witch saying anything terrible to Chan. Now the timer was starting over again. “It’s cute,” Chan continued, looking around. 

The curtains in front of all of the windows were purposefully mismatched and their bright, Bohemian patterns clashed yet…  _ went together _ at the same time. A stack of thick, leather-bound books served as a side table next to the plush armchair and crystal floor lamp. Stashed behind the entertainment center were boxes of knicknacks Minho had yet to unpack. A medium-sized iron cauldron sat against the far wall, filled to overflowing with parchments, wooden animal totems and unused potion bottles wrapped in tissue paper. The wicker couch in the corner by the open bathroom door had about fourteen different pillows piled on top of it but there still seemed to be plenty of cushion to sit. Colorful strings of beadwork, ropes of dried herbs and strands of fairy lights hung from the ceiling painted the same color as the Big Blue Bird’s feathers in the middle of the day. Potted plants were stationed in every corner, their bright greenery and the sweet smell they gave off almost making Chan forget that it was the dead middle of winter outside. A stitched quilt hung down one of the exposed brick walls and instead of a fireplace, there were numerous wax candles lined up on a low, flat stone slab near the middle of the room. Minho crossed the floor towards the gathered candles and lit them one by one with the tip of his wand, whispering a quick spell each time. 

“It’s cuter than I expected from you,” Chan stated. He settled his attention on Minho himself, the elegant witch’s all-black clothes standing out against the backdrop of lush jewel tones and fluffy textures of his apartment.

“You should see the bedroom,” Minho stated. Then he stilled. He turned to face Chan with such urgency that his movement nearly extinguished the candles he had just lit. “I mean… The bedroom is a bit more nicely decorated. Oh, and Daisy’s terrarium is in there.”

Daisy. Minho’s snake familiar. Chan shuddered in mild fright. “I’m sure you think Daisy’s cute,” Chan stated, trying not to cringe.

“I would appreciate it if you’d stop saying the c-word,” Minho grunted. “Makes me feel dirty.” With all of the candles lit, he stood up and stashed his wand back in his pants pocket. The flickering candlelight glittered off of his big, brown eyes. And… was he smiling? 

Chan was so entranced that he said, “You’re--”  _ Cute _ , was the word at the tip of his tongue.

“I’m  _ what _ , District Witch,” Minho snapped, ruining the moment. “If you’re going to make fun of me, be brave and do it to my face. We’re both adults, here.”

“I wasn’t going to make fun.” Chan turned away. “I was going to compliment you.” And he wasn’t sure why an insult would have been easier to spit out than a compliment. “But anyways…”

From the kitchen, Hyunjin let out a loud, ear-splitting shriek that Chan somehow recognized as excitement instead of fear.

“I should go check on them and prevent any disasters.” Chan turned tail and sped across the plush, patterned rug on the floor. His socked feet hardly made a sound as he skirted around Minho’s small two-seater dining table and entered the boxy galley-style kitchen off the living room.

It wasn’t as cluttered as the living room, but it was still colorful. The tiles painted in swaths of pretty hues. Every plate and bowl on the open, wooden shelving was hand-painted, all of them done up in warm, earthy colors. Oranges and reds and browns and splashes of greens. There were even more potted plants in here. Spell ingredients, Chan recognized. Each clay pot had Minho’s neat handwriting on them, the names of herbs and flowers and small vegetables written out in pastel chalk. The stained glass window above the sink let in streaks of afternoon light tinted red and blue and yellow.

Hyunjin was the first to spot Chan standing in the doorway. “Dad!” There wasn’t much distance to close between them but he ran anyways, his speed nearly sending the both of them to the floor. The boy excitedly wrapped his arms around Chan’s middle. “Seungmin says I’m helpful! All I want to be is helpful so I’m happy!” He was already letting Chan go and bolting back into the kitchen, continuing with whatever task Seungmin had assigned him.

“He’s stronger than he looks,” Changbin noted, suddenly at Chan’s side. “He can lift these heavy crates with no issue.”

“Who? Hyunjin,” Chan asked, but it was a silly question. Beneath Hyunjin’s soft personality was the strength and size and  _ fire _ of a dragon.

“And I figured out how to give him directions without confusin’ him,” Seungmin chimed in. “Watch.” Seungmin poked Hyunjin in the shoulder to get his attention and pointed across the kitchen. “Hand me that there thing over yonder but don’t grab it by the pointy end or you’ll regret it.”

Chan had no idea what Seungmin meant but, clearly, Hyunjin did.

“Okay,” he yelled brightly. He nearly ran into the wall in his haste to grab the knife on the far block of the counter. He returned the object to Seungmin who pried it from Hyunjin’s hand carefully.

“You’re so helpful,” Seungmin told him with a boop on the nose.

“Yay!” Hyunjin looked to Chan. “I’m helpful. Aren’t you proud of me?”

Chan nodded, unable to stop his smile. “Yes.”

The joy that flitted across Hyunjin’s face could light up the whole kitchen. The whole apartment. The whole block.

Such a sight made Chan feel at home.

The boys hadn’t known each other long but they already seemed to be forging a strong, natural friendship.

Hyunjin made Changbin giggle with his antics while Seungmin ordered them about, pointing from box to box and giving instructions on what to take out of each one. Where to put it. What to do with it.

Chan watched them for several minutes, leaning against the archway. He almost felt relaxed. Content. But then he looked past Hyunjin.

Jisung had made himself comfortable on top of Minho’s counter, feet pulled up under his legs like he was sitting on a chair.

“Jisung,” Chan cried out.

“Old man,” Jisung fired back, just as loud.

“Get down from there. We aren’t home.” Chan lowered his voice. “Minho will skin me alive if he sees you up there.”

“Ugh. Fine.” Jisung hopped off of the counter. “Only because I feel like being nice.”

Chan had to ask, “Are you even helping?”

“Yes!” Jisung defended himself. “I’m--” He visibly scrambled to find an excuse. “I’m washing things.” He was nowhere near the sink.

“Is he helping,” Chan asked Seungmin.

“Long as he ain’t underfoot, he can do whatever the feather he pleases,” said Seungmin. The island boy had already gotten quite some way into his cooking prep. He had three pots on Minho’s gas stove going, the flames beneath all of them pretty and blue and high. A spoon in one, a spatula in another and a whisk in the third, he stirred and scooped the ingredients in each pot in turn, moving with a speed and precision Chan wouldn’t have expected from the slow, smushed-together way Seungmin spoke. 

“Is it too early to ask what you’re making,” asked Chan.

Seungmin thought about it. “Well, I’ve always wanted to try roasting duck.” He leaned over the gas burners to press start on the oven. “Anyone wanna run downstairs for me?”

“I may as well go,” said Minho.

Chan startled. He had no idea how long the witch had been standing next to him in the doorway.

“Keys are on the table,” Seungmin called out. “Thanks!”

Minho spun away and grabbed the keys off of the table. He had his shoes on and was out the door quite swiftly. So quickly, that Chan thought it strange that Minho obeyed without firing off a single insult or complaint.

“Has Minho been feeling okay lately,” Chan asked.

It was as if Changbin had been dying for someone to ask. “I think he’s cursed,” he sputtered out. He grabbed a handful of his own hair and tugged. “He walks around smiling. He takes more time than usual getting ready in the mornings. He  _ sings _ to Daisy. It’s like he’s not the same person anymore.”

Chan broke the silence first. “None of that sounds like cursed behavior.”

“Heh, or hexed activities,” Jisung supplied with a grin.

Seungmin said, “Sounds like he just likes someone!”

Hyunjin gasped.

Jisung also gasped but he also rolled his eyes. “I flunked out but I’m smart enough to figure that out.”

Chan frowned. “You didn’t figure anything out. I read it to you earlier today.”

That made Jisung shrug. “Maybe I figured it out before then.”

“Really?”

Changbin was still worried, though. “Do you know who he likes?”

“Hex yeah, actually,” said Jisung.

“Jisung, don’t tell him,” Chan implored, holding up both of his hands.

“Why the hex not, old man?”

“It’s not our business to tell. Minho will tell him when he’s ready.”

This confused Changbin. “Tell me what?”

Jisung frowned and narrowed his eyes. “Chan. Sometimes I just want to scream at you.”

“You scream all of the time, Jisung.”

“No. I mean specifically scream at you. Smack you upside the hexing head. Changbin isn’t the one Minho likes!”

“What?” Changbin’s eyes went wide.

“What?” Chan’s eyes went wider. “But the request! It was so obvious.”

Jisung was quiet for several long moments. “I forget that about you, Chan. I forget that you aren’t pretending. You just straight up don’t hexing get it and that’s both annoying and kind of adorable.”

It was probably supposed to be a compliment but Chan had a feeling he had just been made fun of. “Jisung,” he started, “you--”

“So Minho’s got a crush on somebody, huh,” Seungmin asked.

“He’s the Ice Prince,” Hyunjin loudly declared, “and he wants to tell the silver prince how he feels!”

Chan had no idea why Hyunjin brought up that silly little fairy tale again. “Really, Jisung. How do you know who Minho likes? He didn’t mention a single name in that letter.”

“He didn’t hexing have to say a name. He was speaking directly to them.”

At this, Chan put his finger to his chin and  _ thought about it _ .

Seungmin set their conversation aside. He had Hyunjin pass over the bag of white rice and got Changbin to pull out and line up all of the small jars of Jeju’s special spices. Seungmin had Jisung line a big, deep pan with foil to prepare the duck for the oven. Seungmin seemed like an easy-going guy but when he was in front of the stove, he took on an almost uncharacteristic seriousness that even kept  _ Hyunjin _ from thinking this was play time. “I’ve got to account for all the people here and up the servings,” he said. “Changbin, hand me another potato.” The island boy already had several vegetables and peppers lined up on a cutting board, all of them awaiting their turn beneath the long knife in his hand.

“Anything I can help with,” Chan offered, suddenly feeling bad for doing nothing but standing in the doorway and watching.

Seungmin sliced a bell pepper in half with his knife and did not look up. “You’re bein’ real helpful by not standin’ anywhere I gotta swing my elbows.”

“Let’s go back to what we were talking about earlier,” Jisung said. At least now he was standing next to the sink, washing off food and plates and utensils as was needed.

“What were we talking about,” Chan asked.

“How to talk to someone you like,” Seungmin shouted over the hiss of the oil in one of his pans as the heat took to it.

“It’s harder than it sounds,” Changbin added his two cents. “Words become extremely difficult.”

Jisung turned away from the sink. “But before all that, it’s hard to know you like them to begin with.”

“Don’t you like someone whenever your heart goes boom boom boom,” Hyunjin asked, thumping his fist against his chest.

Changbin provided the necessary information. “In addition to an elevated heart rate, the pupils also dilate and, in some cases, there’s even copious amounts of sweat. Usually on the forehead but many people also perspire from their armpits.”

“I mean, what if you aren’t even sure liking someone is why your heart is thumping,” said Jisung. He was speaking quite passionately. As if from personal experience. “Okay, well, you  _ do _ know why. You know you like them… but how do you tell someone you like them?”

“You could just tell them,” offered Changbin, but that made too much sense to be the right answer.

“Nah,” said Jisung. “You have to be smooth with it. Make the rejection easier to take.”

“You could just say you like them,” Changbin reiterated.

Hyunjin sang out, “I like you, Chan. You’re the bestest in the whole wide world.”

“Clearly, we’re talking about the other hexing kind of like here,” Jisung clarified, though no one was paying Hyunjin much mind anyways.

“You could put your feelings in a letter,” Chan suggested.

“Lame,” Jisung told him. “Plus, I’ve seen someone read a love letter out loud and he still didn’t get it. I mean the point went  _ whooosh _ \--” He waved a hand over his bright, bright, bright orange hair. “--clean over his head. Poor guy’s feelings didn’t stand a hexing chance.”

Seungmin let out a loud, rolling belly laugh. “Now I ain’t never heard of someone missing the point like that.”

“Oh, it’s very possible.” Jisung stared hard in Chan’s direction but not long enough for Chan to see. “But anyways… How do you tell someone you like them? Someone who might not get it because you’re bad at expressing your feelings? Especially if they are like… way cooler than you and you don’t even know what to say because, like, you’re cool but a different kind of cool from them and you aren’t sure your kinds of cools would match? How do you tell them?”

“Well, that’s the most specific feathered question I’ve ever done gotten asked.” Seungmin dumped a handful of chopped vegetables into one of the pots he was tending to. “Just do what we used to do on the island. Tell someone--” His sudden pause made everyone perk up and look in his direction.

“What’s the matter,” Chan asked. He hadn’t realized he was so engrossed in the conversation until he caught on to how far forward he was leaning.

Seungmin waved the spatula in his hand in Chan’s direction.

Well, almost his direction.

Chan looked over his shoulder to see Minho standing there, a box creatively labeled ‘duck’ in his arms. 

Minho also looked like he didn’t want to miss a single word of the discussion but his expression quickly changed when he saw how everyone’s eyes were on him. “What? It’s my house. I can stand wherever I please.”

“True,” Changbin noted. “And I doubt we’re talking about anything worth keeping a secret. It’s not like Minho cares about such trivial things.”

Jisung clapped his hands. “Just get on with it, Seungmin. Tell us the hexing deets.”

Seungmin resumed his meal preparation. “Well, on the island, if ya liked someone, ya asked them if ya could read their palm. But instead of reading their palm you just… held their hand.”

“That sounds so fun!” Hyunjin jumped up and down. “ _ So _ fun.”

“That really works?” Jisung asked. “Anyone with half a hexing brain cell can see through that.”

“It sounds highly inappropriate,” said Changbin. “Why would you tell someone one thing and then do another? How dishonest.”

“I’m telling you,” Seungmin declared, “it works! And if they ever ask why you’re still holding on to their hand, just say their fortune is taking a while.”

All of the other boys voiced their complaints. Even Chan had to laugh at the absurdity.

Minho, however, swallowed down a lump in his throat and whispered, hardly audible, “That’s genius.”


	4. Toss A Coin To Your District Witch

As there wasn’t room for all six of them to sit at Minho’s small dining table made for two, even on the best of days, Chan made the decision for them to spread out on the living room floor. “Remember last week? At the shop? We’ll do it just like that.” He placed his hands on Hyunjin’s shoulders and ushered the boy out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Hyunjin quite liked being so directed. “Carry me,” he cried out.

“Oh, I don’t think I can do that,” said Chan. He could barely lift the crates of deliveries when the Coven sent them to the shop and always had to resort to spells. “Let’s just make some room out here to eat.”

Hyunjin slipped out from under Chan’s hands. “We gotta sit next to each other. We have to, Chan. We have to.”

“Okay. We’ll sit next to each other.” Chan paused. Not quite at the center of the living room and not quite in the path towards the hall. “How about around here? There’s plenty of space without having to move anything heavy.”

“I’m noticing a pattern here,” said Minho. He somehow managed to look both displeased and amused. It was all in the angle of his eyebrows. “You must have a  _ thing _ for picnics.”

Chan felt his face flush. “I don’t have a--” He paused to grunt in effort as Hyunjin jumped on him, putting his full weight on Chan’s back. He nearly crumpled beneath the dragon boy’s mass. To Minho, he said, “This has got nothing to do with my childhood and everything to do with the fact that there is always quite a few of us wherever we go.”

“No one said anything about your childhood, District Witch. Keep up.”

True. Chan had been thinking about his childhood on his own. His mother was so fond of eating outdoors. It kept her head clear, she always said. That and the fact that trees and plants never asked for their fortunes to be read. Chan huffed, “This is just the most convenient way to do this since your dining table is about as small as a cookie.”

“Cookie?” Hyunjin repeated, delighted. “Where?”

Minho folded his arms across his chest. “Why would I have a large dining table? I’m single and live alone. Anything larger than what I have would be a distasteful misuse of space.”

“Why are you getting so loud? You were the one who suggested we come over here.”

“If only to keep you from going anywhere with him.”

“With who? Yongbok?”

“No, District Witch.”

“He didn’t show up at all today.”

“I’m talking about the well-dressed one.”

Chan couldn’t think of who he was talking about. “You can’t mean the mimic.”

“You’re right. I absolutely can’t.”

“Then who--”

“Bird’s claws, it doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t get it even if I literally spelled it out to you.”

“Try me.”

“I have! I wrote it word for word. But it doesn’t matter. Instead of being out there, you’re here.”

“Very reluctantly.” Chan wasn’t good at staying mean. “But also very gratefully.”

“I love how well you two get along,” Jisung called out from the depths of the kitchen.

Changbin’s eyes went wide. “You think they  _ get along _ ?”

“I was being hexing sarcastic! Sheesh.”

Fortunately, Hyunjin jumped off of Chan’s back, saving the man. Unfortunately, he jumped up and down excitedly. “Of course they get along!”

“Stop jumping,” Chan warned, slapping a hand on his own lower back to relieve the pain. “We’re not on the first floor.”

Hyunjin stopped jumping but did not stop his excitement. “Minho’s always super duper nice! He and Chan are the bestest of friends.”

Minho blew his bangs out of his face with a sharp exhale but couldn’t--or perhaps simply refused--to comment.

“Oh, if they’re this obnoxious now...” Jisung groaned. “They’ll be worse when Chan actually gets it.”

Chan turned to look at him. “Get what?”

Hyunjin answered by doing some sort of wiggly, finger pointing dance. “Minho wants to be friends with Chan. Minho wants to be friends with Chan. I know because I’m smart!”

Changbin wasn’t convinced. “Perhaps I need to redefine my understanding of the word friends.”

“Hyunjin’s got a wild imagination. That’s all it is,” explained Chan. “He won’t believe me when I say Minho doesn’t want to be friends with me.”

“But he does!” Hyunjin protested.

“Oh, he  _ definitely _ wants to be friends, alright,” added Jisung.

Chan couldn’t exactly see Jisung, as he was in the living room while the orange-haired boy was still in the kitchen, but he could tell from the tone of Jisung’s voice that the kid was making Minho the subject of a joke. Possibly an inappropriate one. “Jisung,” he warned.

“Old man,” Jisung shot back.

Hyunjin was still dancing. He collided with Chan while doing some spin move. “Minho wants to be friends with Chan,” he chanted. “Minho wants to be friends with Chan!”

Minho performed some sort of head dip that would have been far more effective if the brim of his hat was there to hide his eyes. Of course, his hat was hanging by the door so he just ended up looking a little forlorn. “Bird’s claws. Enough of this torment.”

“Yes,” Chan agreed. Looking around the living room at the others. “Can you all find anything else to talk about other than Minho and I?”

“No,” said Hyunjin wholeheartedly. “I wanna talk about you forever and ever.”

“Anything but that,” Chan pleaded. He put a hand on Hyunjin’s torso to guide his flailing dance moves away from Minho’s fragile-looking wall decorations. “I know what we can discuss. How about--”

From the kitchen, Jisung shouted, “Don’t you  _ dare _ start talking about your business, old man.”

Chan was offended. If only because he’d actually been about to suggest they all discuss what items he should discount for a sale he wanted to have in the coming days. “You don’t know what I was about to talk about.”

“I know you,” Jisung countered. “Prove me wrong, then. What were you going to say?”

Chan opened and shut and opened and shut his mouth as words failed him.

Jisung’s disembodied voice boomed from out of the kitchen. “Aha!”

“Jisung,” Chan started.

Fortunately, Hyunjin’s stomach got the best of him. They all heard it growl due to its volume. The dragon boy stuck out his bottom lip and whined towards the kitchen, “How much longer, Seungmin? It’s been five-ever!”

“It ain’t been no five-ever.” shouted Seungmin. “It ain’t been four-ever, neither. The lamb ain’t shook it’s tail but one or two or three times. Boy, if ya don’t  _ hold ya horses _ !”

Hyunjin gasped. “I have horses?” He turned to Chan imploringly.

Chan opened his mouth, a long-winded explanation about figures of speech at the tip of his tongue.

A loud clatter came from the kitchen. Something heavy falling against something heavy falling against something heavy.

Minho pointed at Chan. “If they break anything…” The rest of his threat went unsaid.

Like a fire had been lit underneath him, Chan rushed towards the kitchen archway. He nearly slipped on his socked feet as he came around the corner. “Seungmin, are you okay?”

“I’m just peachy,” said Seungmin.

Hyunjin asked from the living room, “Like a peach pie?”

Jisung was next to the kitchen sink. A mountain of dirty cook pots on the counter beside him. “Uhh, that was me who made all that noise. Thanks for your concern, old man.”

Seungmin just stuffed his free hand into an oven mitt. 

“You’re not hurt, are you?” Chan asked Jisung.

Jisung pointed at the front of his soaking wet shirt. There were stray soap suds on his neck and chin and cheeks. “This is why I don’t wash dishes.”

“But you never wash dishes,” Chan pointed out.

“And this is why!” But Jisung went back to washing dishes. “Besides, there are never any dishes to wash at home.”

Which was true. They rarely cooked at home. Because none of them really cooked. None of them  _ could _ cook. Plus, it had been Chan living in that big house alone until the other week. In the months he had been living on his own in District Nine, he’d discovered that take-out was cheaper than most people thought, especially if he bought something that could last a few meals. He was a regular at the deli diagonally across the street from his shop and they often gave him discounts on their sub sandwiches. Even the bakery a District or so over that Chan always sent Hyunjin to for bread would sometimes throw in a free baguette to reward his loyalty.

Anything to make his paychecks last a little longer.

“That doesn’t look comfortable,” mumbled Changbin, suddenly standing next to Chan. The District Witch hiccuped in surprise. Changbin, unbothered, kept on. “I’ll go get you a dry shirt, Jisung.”

“That’ll be hexing swell.” Jisung wiped his hand across his forehead. All he ended up doing was depositing more soap suds on his face.

“Hey, can you also get--” Chan started but he stopped just as quickly when he realized that Changbin had already darted off.

The timer on the oven dinged.

Seungmin opened the oven door and lifted out the pan of roasted duck with his oven mitts. When he stood up straight, he met Chan’s eye. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Chan. I quite like havin’ so many mouths to account for when I’m cookin’. I get to bring out all the fixin’s. Like I’m back on the island.” He sat the pan down on the stovetop, shut the oven door with his hip and peeled the mitts off of his hands. “Good food’s all we got in Jeju, really. It’s why people cross the ocean to visit us.”

“Oh, I’ll walk across the whole District for some good food,” Jisung added. “I’ve done it before.” An uncharacteristic amount of sentimentality slipped into his voice when he said, “And I’ll do it again if it means never having to eat alone again.”

Chan nodded thoughtfully. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve eaten alone.” 

“Minho likes to have his meals alone,” Changbin told everyone, standing next to Chan again with a large pink shirt in his hands. 

Jisung said, “Why am I not surprised.” He stepped away from the sink, peeled out of his soaking wet shirt and then grabbed the one offered to him. His voice came out muffled as he pulled the dry clothing over his head. 

Changbin took the soaking wet shirt in turn and stared down at it like he wasn’t sure what to do with it. “But I think it would be a good idea if we all started having meals together. Like… Every night. Like… after you two close up shop each day.”

Chan hesitated. That was an awful lot to ask of Seungmin. It was an awful lot to ask of everyone.

Minho stiffened, apparently feeling similar. “How about we  _ not _ do that, Changbin? What part of this being a one-time only thing did you not understand?” 

Changbin’s answer was a quiet, hurt-sounding, “I don’t have that many friends.”

There was a lull in the conversation. A silence full of darting eyes and slack, opened mouths.

But then Minho said, “This is a one-time only thing. As in, this is the first and last time we’re doing this.” He looked Chan in the eye as if to explicitly imply that his message was for the District Witch.

“Sounds good to me,” Chan replied.

Jisung rinsed off another cook pot and dropped it onto the drying rack. “But does it sound good, though? Does it really? Deep down?”

Chan didn’t know what he was talking about. He almost said so aloud.

But wait. 

He hadn’t heard a  _ peep _ out of Hyunjin in quite some time. And Hyunjin being quiet was probably not a good thing. Panic bubbled like steaming hot soup in Chan’s chest and he knocked both Changbin and Minho aside to get back to the living room. The last thing he needed was some damaged personal property to further add to the list of reasons why Minho hated having him around. Fortunately, Hyunjin was well within sight. Unfortunately, he had sunk his teeth into the edge of Minho’s dining table.

“Hyunjin,” he shrieked. “You can’t--”

“Cookie,” Hyunjin shouted, hardly able to enunciate with his teeth in the wood. 

Chan tried again, “You can’t eat that.”

“Uhm hungee,” Hyunjin complained.

“Stop saying that,” Chan said, “or they’ll get the impression that I don’t feed you.”

“Buh uhm hungee.” He was barely understandable. “Habent in forebber.” And it had been a while since they had eaten, if Chan was being honest. It seemed like the Big Blue Bird herself was keeping them from going back to the house. Almost as if she wanted them to be  _ here _ instead.

Of course, Chan didn’t actually know the Big Blue Bird’s plans. He only knew the minor stress of fearing Hyunjin would break his teeth. “Just be patient a little longer, Hyunjin. You can have seconds. Maybe even thirds.”

Hyunjin wasn’t sure if he was pleased by the prospect. He dug his teeth into the table just a little bit harder.

“District Witch,” said Minho, walking up next to Chan. “That is an antique, I’ll have you know. If there’s a single tooth mark in the thing...”

Chan placed his hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder. “We’re about to eat so act with some sense. Alright?”

“Okay…” Hyunjin mumbled. He finally pulled his teeth free from the corner of the table, saliva dripping from his incisors. “If you say so, Channie-Chan.”

“District Witch,” Minho started up again, eyeing the fresh half circle of dents in the surface of his table.

“Right. That’s so unsanitary,” Chan said. He had seen a roll of paper towels in the kitchen. “I’ll wipe that up.”

Minho stepped into his path. “My table!”

Jisung came out of the kitchen and glared at Minho, suddenly remembering how their last little picnic turned out. “Hey, Minho. You aren’t going to ruin the mood again, are you?”

“I’m not ruining anything.”

“You have a bad habit of turning any good time into complete hex.”

Minho looked scandalized. “He’s ruined my furniture.”

“He’s my little bro, yo. Take a hexing chill pill. Stop being… What would Woojin say? Hex, he’d say something with a ton of syllables. What’s the biggest word I know… Stop being  _ reprehensible _ !” 

Changbin got defensive of his witch. “Minho isn’t being--”

“I make no promises,” Minho interrupted with a frown. “Being reprehensible is in my nature.”

“What’s that mean,” Hyunjin asked. “Is that something that you eat?”

Speaking of which. Chan gripped Hyunjin by the chin and pried open his mouth. He leaned close to make sure there wasn’t anything inorganic in there. Something the boy shouldn’t swallow. Everything looked clear.

“My table,” Minho moaned.

Really, the teeth marks weren’t particularly noticeable.

Changbin thought the same thing. “The maidens at the shrine have plenty of wood paint. I can easily cover up the damage.” 

“But even if you cover it up…” Minho let out a loud, inelegant groan. “Just knowing that it’s there is the same thing as seeing it.” He looked in Chan’s direction. “I’m going to keep an eye out the window.” He pointed towards the large glass panes on the far side of the room, the curtains drawn back so that they could all see the view of the city outside. “If I see one snowflake fall, I’m kicking everyone out to the curb.”

Right. It wouldn’t be fun at all to get snowed in. Again. Quickly, Chan said, “Don’t worry. I’ll be the first out the door.” Well. No. He’d at least be the second. He had to keep his eyes on Hyunjin at all times. No. He’d be the third because he suddenly couldn’t just leave Jisung here. That was a disaster waiting to happen. And what about Seungmin? Technically, Chan wasn’t responsible for him, but if they came together, they should leave together. Okay. He’d be the  _ fourth _ person out the door, then.

Minho misinterpreted the look on Chan’s face. “Don’t get any silly ideas or, Bird’s claws, I’ll turn you into a toad.”

“Let’s finish setting things up for lunch first,” Chan suggested, “and then we can go back to discussing polymorph spells.”

That’s all it took to get a little bit of order in the room.

Following Chan’s instructions, Minho cleared a space for all of them. He pushed his living room furniture up against the walls, rolled up one of the rattan floor mats and set it aside, and then cleaned up the loose items and papers scattered about the room. After he did all of that, he pushed the coffee table towards the foyer and out of the way.

Changbin rescued an old, polka-dotted tablecloth from the depths of Minho’s linen closet down the hall and spread it across the floor. Hyunjin and Jisung were responsible for setting up the indoor picnic, lining up the big bowls of steaming food and the numerous utensils and plates and stacks of napkins.

Chan was on cleaning duty. He finished drying the cook pots Seungmin had used to make lunch then made sure everyone washed their hands before they all sat down around the tablecloth.

Seungmin went over that afternoon’s menu in great detail.

He had made a meal worthy of royalty, it seemed. And that was fine.

They all ate like kings.


	5. Home Sweet Home

The Big Blue Bird’s feathers were just turning pink and gold and orange with twilight by the time everyone had finished eating and washing up and picking up after themselves.

Even though there wasn’t a single snowflake in the air, it was about time to leave.

Chan didn’t want to admit it, as he didn’t really know where the feeling came from, but as he put on his boots, slipped into his coat and grabbed his witch hat off the hook by the front door, he couldn’t help but feel a little sad about leaving Minho’s home. He wanted to stay a little while longer. Part of him actually hoped that Woojin’s special team would have taken longer to finish rescuing his house from beneath the mountain of snow and ice. Just half an hour more, he bargained. It would have been enough.

It would have been enough.

He blamed his reluctance on the fact he'd have to leave the warmth here for the night time chill outside. Yeah. That was the only reason.

Yeah.

“I just wanna go home and  _ crash _ ,” Jisung complained loudly, his eyes half-lidded with drowsiness. In one of his hands, he clutched plastic bags of boxed up, leftover food that would surely stock their fridge for the next few days. “I can hear my bed yelling my name.”

“I’m sleepy,” Hyunjin agreed, propping himself up against the wall next to Minho’s front door. “I haven’t had a nap in five-ever. I want, like--” He paused to yawn. “--three of them. In a row.”

There was just something about a good, hot, home-cooked meal that just made you want to settle into a comfy chair and doze off. Chan felt it himself. Maybe that’s why he wanted to stay.

“Thanks for coming by,” said Changbin. “Feel free to visit.”

“Feel free to  _ not _ do that,” Minho corrected quickly.

“Just call ahead.”

“Don’t call at all. Ever.”

“Minho,” Changbin mumbled.

“Changbin.”

“Can’t you stop this petty little rivalry now?”

“I see enough of them every day when I’m at work,” Minho justified his rudeness. “I don’t need them showing up in my home as well.”

“But--”

“We had a wonderful time but I think we should call it an evening,” Chan cut in, as much for Changbin and Minho’s waning hospitality as it was for Jisung and Hyunjin’s impatience. “We’re on the way home now.” And it still felt strange putting those two words in the same sentence: We. Home. Just over a week ago, he’d be returning to that big ol’ house alone. Now Hyunjin lived with him. And Jisung had his own room. And Felix stayed there, too, whenever the cat showed up in the neighborhood. Wow. Things could change so fast. “And you really didn’t have to offer to drive us, Seungmin.”

“It ain’t no sweat, Chan,” Seungmin told him. “Clearly you ain’t got no other way to get on from ‘round here so I may as well drive ya.”

“I mean… We could take the bus,” Chan attempted.

Seungmin frowned. “Chan, stop doin’ that thing ya always do where ya make stuff harder than it needs to be. Just let me do this. I drove across the entire feathered country for ya. What’s a little bit more drivin’ on top of that?”

That actually didn’t make Chan feel any better about the predicament but the longer they debated things, the more likely they’d overstay their welcome. “Okay, then. Let’s go. It’ll be a far more comfortable ride with only four of us squeezed in.”

With the matter settled, they went back to getting ready to leave. Tying up shoelaces, doing up zippers, buttoning buttons.

“District Witch,” Minho’s voice cut into the air.

Chan stood up straight almost as a reflex. “We’re leaving, okay? No need to insult me when I’m halfway out the door.”

But that didn’t stop Minho from walking right up to him, witch hat to witch hat. No. Wait. They were standing closer than that. Minho didn’t have on his hat and, because of its absence, he could lean in more closely. 

Their brand new proximity started up a storm in Chan’s head and if it wasn’t for how quiet the magic sat in the air around them, he would’ve sworn the mana disturbances were starting up again.

He choked out, “M-M-Minho--”

“Look at you,” Minho scoffed. “You’re our District Witch but you’re about to go out in public looking so  _ frumpy _ .”

It was like an ice cube down Chan’s back. A snowball to the face. The storm in his head stopped suddenly, leaving his ears ringing.

“You never rest,” Chan sighed wearily. The insult was frigid and made the freezing cold outdoors sound just a tad more inviting. Chan would have turned away towards the door if Minho’s firm hand on his shoulder hadn’t stopped him.

“Hold on. Let me straighten you up a little,” said Minho, but he was already reaching for Chan’s collar. “I can at least do this much, right?” He spoke slowly. Softly. His cheeks were turning noticeably red. Like he was a tad embarrassed about being so outwardly kind. His fingers were warm and soft at the base of Chan’s neck as he readjusted Chan’s clothes, doing up one of the buttons Chan had missed. “See? You look more presentable already. Now you won’t embarrass me.”

The storm started up in Chan’s head again. It made him feel warm. Not the kind of heat that would’ve been uncomfortable beneath his coat, but a different kind of warmth. Like that first sip of hot chocolate when the marshmallows had yet to melt. Sweet but not saccharine. Not yet.

Chan seemed to forget that the rest of the world existed. He could hear Jisung and Hyunjin and Seungmin chatting and giggling but it was all just indecipherable white noise. He could hear Changbin’s low, gravelly voice but couldn’t determine exactly what he was asking. All Chan could really focus on was Minho. Right in front of him. Close. Unbearably so.

“One more adjustment…” Minho hummed as he worked, his hands straightening Chan’s witch hat before lowering to Chan’s face to swoop his silver curls away from his eyes.

Chan just stood there. A little bit taken aback. 

He wanted to ask if Minho knew how different he looked when he smiled instead of scowled. He wanted to ask why Minho was aiming such a bright, comfortable smile at  _ him _ . What had he done to earn it? He inhaled a breath as if to ask, but--

“Achoo!” Jisung’s obnoxiously fake sneeze reverberated through the tiny foyer.

Chan looked up just in time to watch the orange-haired boy plant a hand on Minho’s back and  _ shove _ .

Minho let out the tiniest startled gasp as he was thrown against Chan’s chest. His weight made Chan stumble backwards one step, two steps, and then bump against the wall. 

They stood like that for a moment. Both of them were too surprised to move. Their faces hovered dangerously close. Chan had no other choice but to look into Minho’s deep brown eyes. He had no other choice but to breathe in Minho’s warm, waxy smell. Like burning incense. He had no other choice but to raise his hands to Minho’s sides and gently nudge Minho backwards, giving them both an absolutely necessary amount of breathing room. “Sorry about that,” Chan choked out. He glared over Minho's shoulder at the biggest mischief maker he’d ever known. “Jisung!”

“What? I sneezed,” Jisung lied to his face. “I didn’t see him there.”

Chan was pretty sure Jisung had his eyes open. That he’d pushed Minho intentionally. “Don’t be mean.”

“Mean?” Jisung’s jaw dropped. “I’m trying to help you, old man.”

“Whatever.” Minho peeled himself out of Chan’s grip and took a step back. His usual freezing glare was back. His scowl was planted firmly on his face. “Why don’t you all get going?”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Chan reached for the door handle and swung it open. Immediately, the crisp winter air billowed in.

Minho crossed his arms over his chest and visibly shivered. “Hurry up and go. You’re letting all that cold air in.”

Jisung led the way, grinning up at Chan like he’d done something wonderful. Something life-altering. Hyunjin followed after him, giggling and humming to the tune of his ‘Minho wants to be friends with Chan’ song from earlier in the evening.

Seungmin stepped across the threshold next. Then he paused and nudged Chan with his elbow. “Well paint me candy apple red and call me a cow-tipper. I think I get it now.”

Chan had no clue what there was to get or why being red made anyone a tipper of cows. “Just go crank up the truck,” he told the boy sternly. And when Seungmin didn’t immediately start moving again, Chan put a hand on his lower back and guided him out the door.

Seungmin wasn’t done with him yet. “You’re the one with the head his words went  _ whoosh _ over. I get it now.”

“What are you talking about?” Chan asked him, genuinely confused.

“Hold your hand right here,” Seungmin said. He grabbed Chan’s wrist and pressed the older man’s hand up against his forehead like he was making Chan do a salute. “There. That should stop stuff from flying over.”

At the very least, Chan knew when he was being made fun of. “Just go!” He gave Seungmin another push which got the boy laughing and playfully stumbling.

“Alright, Chan.” Finally, he turned around and rushed to follow the others down the outdoor hall towards the stairs.

Chan started his own journey out the door but it obviously couldn’t remain that simple.

“District Witch,” Minho shouted at his back.

He turned around.

The elegant witch stood there smirking. His black-clad apprentice at his side. Combined, they were a force to be reckoned with. One of them was lightning and the other was the thunder that followed. Their stern, stuck-up faces reminded Chan so much of the first time they had met the other week, Minho with his upturned nose, Changbin with his disappointed head shaking, both of them walking out of Chan’s shop like they couldn’t stand to be in the place.

“What is it,” Chan asked when a few seconds had passed and Minho hadn’t explained himself.

“Now that you’ve got an apprentice of your own,” Minho stated, gesturing in the direction Seungmin had just run off in, “we can properly compete as witches.”

Chan felt his chest tighten. Felt his throat go dry. Seungmin wasn’t his apprentice. It hadn’t been true the first time Minho had said it. It wasn’t true this time either. Chan had turned the apprenticeship down. He was positive he didn’t have the necessary credentials to train someone who was skilled enough to get an offer from  _ the _ Yien Tuan. “You’ve got it all wrong,” Chan muttered. “He’s not--”

“Still afraid of having competition on Thirteenth Street,” Minho goaded him, waggling an eyebrow.

“You opened up shop directly across from mine for that very reason,” Chan told him.

“But it wasn’t fair. I started off so much farther ahead, District Witch. Being more talented and all.” Minho confidently flicked his head to the side, jerking his hair out of his face. “Now we stand on slightly more equal ground. Now I… respect you.”

“You win, Minho,” Chan surrendered, tired of their constant squabbling.

“Oh, come on. At least be a  _ challenge _ , Chan.” 

And there was something about Minho’s tone, something about the fact that he called Chan by his name as opposed to his title. It worked Chan up a bit. “What kind of competition?” Chan turned back to the door and hastily stepped through it, walking out into the cold.

Minho rushed up to his door and continued to shout after him. “Who can turn the higher profit this week,” Minho asked, grinning. “It will finally be a fair fight, District Witch. It won’t be a one-sided stomp in my favor.”

Chan started down the stairs. He didn’t know what came over him. The words just sort of leaped out of his throat. “You’re on.”

☆★

Seungmin’s truck was indeed more comfortable to ride in with only four passengers.

There was significantly more leg room and the air was far easier to breathe.

Jisung had claimed the spot on the bench seat by the passenger door, the bags of food on the floor between his rollerblades. Hyunjin sat next to him, half-asleep, head lolling from side to side on Jisung’s shoulder. Chan, with a fresh box of gingerbread cookies from the bakery in his lap, sat wedged between Hyunjin and Seungmin, doing his best to keep his elbow and knee out of Seungmin’s way as the young man rapidly shifted gears on District 9’s narrow, winding, two-lane suburban roads.

For the most part, the ride was quiet. Seungmin had the radio low, tuned in to some upbeat country tunes. The truck’s loud engine swallowed up the rest of the quiet. Every now and then, Chan gave directions, leading Seungmin back down Thirteenth Street, past the shops on opposite sides of the street, and towards the edge of the District where they lived.

When they had turned off Thirteenth Street and were driving past the library, Chan couldn’t help but feel like he just  _ had _ to say something. Chan couldn’t think of a better way to start things off so he just went for it. “Minho and I are officially competing,” he said. “Who can turn the higher profit in a week.”

Chan fully expected Jisung to say something like  _ Who hexing cares, old man _ , but was shocked when Jisung turned away from the window and excitedly asked, “Are you asking for my help as your business partner?”

They weren’t business partners, but… “You said something the other evening about same-day delivery?”

Jisung sat up straight, nearly dislodging Hyunjin’s head from his shoulder. “I feel like we should set up some kind of shop app where people can make orders and then I take it straight to their door. They won’t have to leave their houses in this weather.” He waved a hand out the window at all of the snow piled up on the sidewalks.

That did sound brilliant, but, “Neither of us are very good at working that courier app. It’s so clunky and unintuitive.”

Jisung shook his head. “No. Not through the courier app. I’m saying we should have something made specifically for our shop!”

“Why, that sounds easier than puttin’ a bear in a beartrap,” Seungmin exclaimed. “I can whip one up real quick like. It ain’t gonna take but a few shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

Chan turned to him. “Oh, you really don’t have to do that. We’ve bugged you enough.”

Seungmin barrelled on as if he hadn’t heard. “The codin’ part should be simple. I set up somethin’ similar on the island. The most complicated thing will be takin’ pictures of all that feathered merchandise.”

“Seungmin,” Chan said sharply, “you don’t have to do anything else for us.”

“But you want to pull a higher profit than Minho, don’t you,” Jisung asked.

“Yes, but--”

Jisung interrupted him, “So pull a higher profit than Minho. Simple as that.”

Chan sighed. Seungmin wasn’t his apprentice, right? They had all established that fact, he was certain. Instead of commenting on that again, Chan raised a hand to Hyunjin’s mouth to wipe a bit of drool from off the dragon boy’s lips. Then he focused his attention back out the windshield. “Turn left up here, Seungmin. Not on this road. The next one. Where that SUV just went.”

Seungmin slowed down, flicked on his turn signal and wheeled the pickup truck onto the indicated road. Outside, the dark night sky was made even darker by clouds. They could all hear the wind whistling past the windows and they could all see the headlights catch the first few white specks of falling snow. 

They had left Minho’s house just in time.

Jisung kept their conversation going. “So we’ve got the delivery thing sorted. What other plans do you have?”

“I wanted to have a Winter Solstice sale,” Chan answered. “Do some special decorating for the holidays.”

Hyunjin had been half-asleep but he opened his eyes to squeal, “I wanna do some decker raiding!”

“Ow. My ear.” Jisung grunted, wincing.

Chan said, “Maybe instead of putting our entire inventory on the app, we just do items tied to the Solstice.”

“Well, that’s one way to ease up the workload, ain’t it?” Seungmin asked. “We can sell exclusive items through the app. Wrap ‘em up like presents.”

Jisung took the idea and ran with it. “You wanna float the boxes down people’s chimneys too? That’ll be hexing epic. Like something out of a fairy tale.”

Chan cut in. “Make a right at the light.”

The light was green so Seungmin eased into the turn. A car on the opposite end of the intersection, however, swung in front of him. Seungmin leaned on his horn and shouted, “What the feather’s ya problem, ya bat-blind pig-nosed son of a purple crayon! If ya gonna pull out in front of somebody, put ya foot on the gas!”

None of them expected such a loud, emotional display.

Chan looked over at Seungmin. “Umm.”

Seungmin grinned. “Hmm? What? What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Chan sighed. They were getting close to his neighborhood now. He could see the big bridge that separated District 9 from the next one over.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed with a notification. He retrieved it and saw that it was a text message from Woojin. It said:  _ I was waiting for you but I feel it’s a bit inappropriate to impose. Call me if anything is wrong. _

Wait. Woojin had been waiting at the house? Chan started to reply, to tell him that they weren’t but five minutes away, but he stopped himself. Woojin was probably busy. He replied,  _ Thank you. I told you I had gotten snowed in. _

With that taken care of, he stashed his phone back in his pocket. “I should learn to drive,” Chan said, more to himself than anything. He couldn’t pile everyone on his broom. “But it looks so… complicated.”

Every part of Seungmin’s body stayed in motion, it seemed, even though he sat so still.

“It ain’t all that hard, Chan,” he said with a chuckle. He tipped his witch hat backwards off his forehead with a flick of his thumb. “A good car is like a pretty lady. She’ll tell ya what she wants. Ya just gotta listen. Ya just gotta be a gentleman.”

“Huh?” Chan tilted his head.

They eased to a halt in front of a stop sign. Seungmin pulled his feet off the brake and off the clutch. “If ya aren’t payin’ her enough attention durin’ conversation, she’ll shut right up.” He took his foot off the clutch a tad too much and the truck’s rattling engine went silent. “See?” Seungmin cranked the truck back up, making her rumble and shake beneath them.

Jisung leaned towards the dashboard, his curiosity piqued.

“And if ya get too frisky and move too fast for her, she’ll run off and tell her daddy on ya.” Seungmin pressed down on the gas and the clutch, too much of both. They all heard the tires squeal as the truck jerked, stopped, jerked, stopped, jerked away from the stop sign. Seungmin explained, “She’ll verbally complain if ya don’t handle her right. Hear that? Hear her yellin’? Still too much clutch.” He eased up on the clutch and the engine noise settled as he accelerated. “And if I hold her hand when she don’t want me to--” He grabbed the gear shift, swung it from second to third with no clutch. The stick shuddered and vibrated under his palm. “--she’ll snatch herself out ma grip.” He corrected his positioning. Got the truck into third gear without her making a noise. “See? Easy.”

Chan was even more intimidated. “I’ll just fly.”

Jisung nudged him. “If you wanna get from point a to point b real fast, you can always use my slippy spaces, old man.”

That was even more intimidating. There was still so much Chan didn’t understand about those things. Jisung wasn’t a witch and didn’t know any spells so how could he… do whatever it was he did whenever he walked through a slippy space? Gosh. That couldn’t have been what they were actually called. There was probably a more appropriate name. Chan sighed. “I’ll just walk.”

“I’ll take you,” Hyunjin mumbled. “Wherever you wanna go, Chan. I’ll take you. Just…” He interrupted himself with a gentle snore. “...hop on my back.”

Chan pointed out the front windshield. “See that house on the left? The only one without any Winter Solstice decorations? That’s us.”

Seungmin swung wide into the driveway. The headlights swept across the yard in a slash of light across the slushy snow.

Hyunjin was suddenly awake, bolting upright and climbing across Jisung’s lap to put his face against the passenger-side window. “Kitty!”

“What?” Chan leaned over the dashboard to look out the windshield. “Where?”

“Right there, right there,” Hyunjin pointed animatedly. 

“Weren’t you just asleep, kid?” Jisung winced as one of Hyunjin’s elbows connected with his chest. “How’d you even see?”

“Kitty, kitty, kitty,” Hyunjin chanted. 

The truck hadn’t even come to a complete stop yet but Hyunjin was swinging open the door.

“Hyunjin,” Chan shrieked.

Hyunjin tumbled out of the door and landed face first in the snow but that hardly stopped him. He stood up and hop-step-hop-stepped through the ankle-high snow towards the front porch steps.

The pickup truck’s headlights were aimed just right so that Chan could just barely make out Felix’s all-black shape at the bottom of the stairs.

Chan sighed in relief. He turned to Jisung. “I’ll help you carry in those bags.” He turned to Seungmin. “Did you want to come in for a moment? Rest up a bit. You’ve had a longer day than the rest of us. You can find you a place to stay and everything.”

“Sure thing, Chan,” Seungmin readily agreed. He popped off the engine and wasted no time hopping out the driver’s side door. As if afraid Chan would snatch back the invitation.

As Chan helped Jisung with all of the bags of food, Jisung blurted out, “Just say yes, old man.”

“Hmm? Say yes to what?”

“To Seungmin. He wants you. We want him. Just say yes.”

“Kitty!” Hyunjin screeched from across the yard. He had scooped Felix up in his arms and was jumping up and down with him, kissing the top of his head. The yellow-eyed cat laid in his grip limply, resigning himself to the boy’s inescapable enthusiasm. “Look, Chan. Look. You’re not looking. You have to look! He’s got little bitty pink beans on his feet. Look, Chan! They’re so cute. Chan, look!”

“I see them, Hyunjin,” Chan called out. “They’re very cute.”

“I told you!” Hyunjin squealed excitedly. “They’re the second bestest thing in the whole wide world.”

Chan shut the pickup truck’s passenger door and followed Jisung across the yard. “I don’t know, Jisung,” he said, continuing their earlier conversation. “I don’t think I’m ready for an apprentice. I mean… Look at him.” He jerked his head towards the front door, watching Seungmin put a steadying hand on Hyunjin’s elbow to keep the boy from slipping on the stairs. “I’m afraid he’ll find out that I don’t shine as bright as he thinks I do. What if he decides I’m lame and leaves me?”

“I think you’re lame,” Jisung said, snatching the house keys out of Chan’s hand. “But I’m still here.”

“Thanks, that really helps,” Chan said sarcastically.

“It’s a hexing compliment,” Jisung playfully punched him in the shoulder. “You’re lame… but like… way less lame than, like, pineapple on pizza.”

Chan  _ supposed _ that was a good thing.

He watched as Jisung clambered up the steps in his rollerblades when it would have been far easier to take the things off. He watched Jisung unlock the front door and herd everyone inside, Seungmin laughing from the depths of his belly as Hyunjin sang and Felix meowed.

Chan watched as, one by one, lights came on inside, spilling warm yellow light out into the yard and making the falling snow twinkle.

Chan sucked in a deep breath and then let it out before starting up the front porch stairs himself.

Home sweet home.


	6. Pyrotechnics

Chan dreamed of Hyunjin.

That should have been harmless enough.

The two of them were in the shop, it seemed, straightening the merchandise on the shelves and cleaning dirt and dust and tracked-in snow up off the floor so that they could go home for the night. Chan usually didn’t sing, but a happy little tune had made a home for itself in his head and he couldn’t help but let it out.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Hyunjin twirled and danced instead of helping clean.

That was okay, though. Chan usually wound up doing most of the work anyway.

It was late and they were nearly done when Chan heard a crash. It was the sudden, high-pitched noise of a fragile thing breaking into many pieces. 

Chan stopped singing. He looked over his shoulder and saw the broken bits of glass next to Hyunjin’s shoes. Well, it was just an accident, right? These things happen. Chan gave the boy a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it,” he said, already turning around to head up the aisle with the broom and dustpan in his hand.

But a look of dark mischief sparkled in Hyunjin’s eyes. Hyunjin smirked. He grabbed another item off of the shelf, hoisted it above his head and threw it to the ground. It cracked apart, sending glass shards and lavender-colored stones sliding across the hardwood. 

That made Chan pause. Made his smile falter. He got the distinct feeling that this wasn’t one of Hyunjin’s usual games. Chan looked up at Hyunjin and, with slightly less patience, said, “Step away, Hyunjin. I’ll clean it up.” He attempted to sweeten the deal. “We can go home afterwards. I’ll buy you a snack on the way.” He started sweeping the broken bits up into a pile, being careful not to disturb the lavender stones too much as he did so. If they ever rubbed too hard together--

“Say it,” Hyunjin said suddenly.

Huh?

Chan slowly looked up at the boy, finally catching on to the fact that something wasn’t quite... right. “Say what?”

The boy grabbed a third item off of the shelf and hurled it at the floor. The jar smashed open, sending up a cloud of silvery, sparkling powder that filled the shop with a sharp, musty smell. 

With a sigh like he was heaving the weight of the world up onto his shoulders, Chan sighed, “Great Big Blue,” and got to sweeping.

Hyunjin wasn’t finished with him yet. “Get angry with me,” the boy said. Not in his usual, fluttering butterfly voice but in a tone that sounded like flames crackling. “Hate me.”

HUH?

“What?” Chan stopped his sweeping to look up at his badly behaving boy

Hyunjin already had a fourth item in his hand. A vial with a reddish-orange liquid inside. His fingertips glowed red like embers in the hearth. “Admit it,” Hyunjin said, his voice as dark as smoke. “Admit that you can’t stand me. Say it. Say that you’re sick of me!” He threw the item at the floor and watched in wicked glee as it shattered into pieces.

The red liquid mixed with the sparkling silver powder which, in turn, settled over the purple stones. The different spells coalesced into something dangerous and made the mana inside the shop churn like the ocean in the middle of the storm.

Chan winced as the disturbance raced to his head. So quickly and so sharply that his vision tunneled. He reached a hand up to the hat on his head and pulled it off. Chucked it aside. All at once, the storm quieted and all he was left with was Hyunjin’s menacing grin. Desperate and confused, Chan asked, “Hyunjin, what’s gotten into you?”

“Lose your patience with me, Chan,” said Hyunjin. And he sounded so unlike himself. Gone was the bouncy rhythm with which he spoke. In its place was something cold and monotone. “Hate me, Chan!”

“Why would you-- I could never…” Chan took a preemptive step backward as all of the stuff on the floor began to sizzle. As the concoction began to eat away at the floor, burning a hole right through the wood. He had to clean this up quickly and find a way to repair the damage. He had to--

“Pay attention to me, Chan,” Hyunjin demanded. “You always ignore me because you can’t stand me.”

Chan couldn’t get the words out. “What? I… Why--”

“Why don’t you ever pay attention to me!”

Before Chan’s eyes, Hyunjin started to transform. 

His skin hardened and sparkled as his iridescent scales pushed outward. His fingers elongated, sharpened into dark-tipped claws. His pastel clothes tore to shreds as his leathery wings sprouted from his back, as his narrow tail grew from the base of his spine. “Just say it, Chan,” Hyunjin growled. His dragon lungs made it sound like he had two voices. One high and squeaky and familiar. The other low and gravelly and fierce. “Say you hate me. I know you want to. You’re dying to. You’ve wanted to say it since we met.”

“I could… I could never say that,” Chan wailed. His hands shook so bad he dropped his broom. The handle fell into the mess of potions and spells on the floor and immediately turned bright green. “I don’t hate you, Hyunjin. Why would you think that?”

“Because you always act like it.” Hyunjin was still transforming. He was still growing in size. Taller and wider and heavier. His wings knocked away the shelving units, sending them and all of the merchandise stacked on top of them crashing to the floor on either side of them. Hyunjin’s face stretched to accommodate the brand new size of his teeth. The brand new shape of his eyes. “I know you, Chan. I know you can’t stand that you’re stuck with me. I know you hate that you can’t get rid of me. Oh, you’d abandon me if you could. You’d run away and leave me behind the first chance you got.” His words were getting harder and harder to understand as he became less boy and more dragon. As his voice got louder and deeper and hotter due to the new size of his lungs. As he became tall enough and large enough for his head to hit the rafters. “Just! Say! It!” The dragon reared back its head and opened its big, black mouth. 

The air in the shop got thick. White. Hotter and hotter. Brighter and brighter. The entire ceiling glowed with the light of dragon magic.

By the time Chan realized what was about to happen, it was nearly too late to throw himself to the floor.

The roof exploded. 

All of it. 

Every piece of it. 

It was there one second and then completely gone the next. Replaced by towering flames, cascading bits of burning wood and a pillar of pitch-black smoke swirling up into the night sky.

The sound of the explosion echoed in Chan’s ears long after it had finished. The vibrations shook the District Witch down to his core, made his bones feel like they were going to crack and dissolve inside of him. “I don’t hate you, Hyunjin,” he cried out, barely able to hear his own voice over the ringing in his ears. He got frustrated sometimes, but, “I don’t hate you. You can’t really believe that, can you?”

Hyunjin roared like he didn’t--couldn’t--hear. “You fear me. You want me to leave so that you will be  _ safe _ ! You hate me because of how much I make you worry.”

“I promised I would take care of you,” screamed Chan. It was hard for him to keep his eyes open. The flames towered so high and hot around him. 

Red everywhere. 

Everything was burning. 

Melting.

His shop. Great Big Blue, his _ shop _ !

Everything he had spent the last six months working hard to build was going up in smoke around him. Crumbling. Falling apart.

All of his dreams were turning to ash. 

Chan choked on the thick air. “Hyunjin, please!” Where was his wand? He was certain he knew a spell that could put out the flames. It wasn’t too late to save everything, was it?

“This is my nature, Chan,” Hyunjin bellowed. His transformation was complete now. The mighty dragon stood tall and proud in the center of the destruction it had caused. Horns reached up to the full moon in the sky. Wings stretched wide, wider than the shop from tip to tip. The fearsome red glow of the fire reflected endlessly in the dragon’s glossy, infinite scales. “You can’t control me and you hate everything that you cannot control. You! Want! Me!  _ GONE _ !” 

That last word was a bestial scream. 

Echoing and echoing.

A sound so low and full of agony.

It rattled Chan. Reminded him of that perilous night last week. Reminded him of his precious Hyunjin being thrown into the back seat of a coven car and taken away from him. Great Big Blue, what would the coven do if they found out about this current mess? About this fire? The whole shop was ablaze! Woojin wouldn’t be able to save him from this. The man had already done too much for him. But… who else could Chan ask? What could Woojin do? 

Would the coven take Hyunjin away from him?

Again?

For good?

“Get angry with me,” Hyunjin screamed in his dragon voice. He was so  _ loud _ . He would wake the whole neighborhood. The whole District. “Hate me! Throw me away! I know that’s how you feel deep down.” The dragon’s mouth glowed and glowed. Sparks spilled from between its teeth.

The walls of the shop lit up and then  _ exploded _ into fire and light.

Chan crossed his arms over his face and dove to the floor to protect himself from the insane heat. Where was his wand? Where had he left it? 

And what would he do if he had it?

Point it at Hyunjin?

Point it at his boy?

“Get angry with me!” But this voice was different. Still angry but… different.

Chan lowered his arms from in front of his face and risked getting stung by the smoke and fire to open his eyes.

Hyunjin was gone. 

Jisung stood in his place. The boy’s hair was so orange that it was practically on fire. It emitted smoke and heat and light. His smile was so wide and his teeth were so _ jagged _ . And his tongue was so long. “I know you hate me, Chan,” Jisung snarled. He shut his eyes. When he opened them again, he had black, fathomless irises. “You think I’m a nuisance. A bully. A beggar. You think I’m stupid and ugly and dirty just like everyone else but you aren’t brave enough to say it.”

“Jisung?” Chan choked out. The air was so dry it immediately stole the moisture from his mouth. Made him cough. Chan cleared his throat. “Jisung, what are you saying? Where’s Hyunjin?”

Jisung narrowed his eyes. “You’re nothing but a pushover, Bang Chan. I could take everything from you and you’d let me because you pity me.”

That… wasn’t true. Was it?

“You can’t stand me,” Jisung told him.

Yes... At first... Chan had disliked Jisung’s pushiness in the beginning. Disliked his lack of manners, and, yes, his heart ached when he found out the boy had no home and no family, but it wasn’t pity that made him keep the boy around. “That’s not true, Jisung.”

“I’ve ruined everything,” said Jisung. He looked so calm despite the fire that raged and screamed around them. He looked so at peace despite the blazing heat in his black eyes. “And I’m going to keep ruining everything. Because I want to. Because I want to break you.”

Chan pushed himself to his feet. It was so tough to do. His clothes felt so heavy. The material dragged at his limbs like chains as he reached out a hand and grabbed Jisung’s thin arm. “We have to get out of here.” Chan coughed and sputtered. “We have to make it outside.” His eyes hurt from the heat. His lungs hurt from the smoke. “It’s not safe here. I have to keep you safe.” And he dragged Jisung towards the door. 

Or, rather, where the door was supposed to be.

Everything was on fire. 

The air was thick with black smoke. Impossible to see through and unbearable to breathe. Chan felt like the smoke would never leave his lungs. He felt like he would never breathe in fresh air again. 

He would die here. But he would save Jisung first.

“Come on,” Chan begged, pulling on Jisung harder. “We have to get help. We have to warn the residents and get them away.” He was the District Witch. It was his duty to protect them. Protect everyone.

“Say you hate me,” said Jisung. He pulled back on Chan’s grip as if trying to resist him, as if trying to stay put. “You only see some dirty, homeless kid when you look at me. I’m just a mooching leech you want to throw away. Just say it.”

“Jisung, you know that’s not how I feel about you.”

“But it is! I know you, Chan. I know you.”

With strength Chan didn’t know he had, he pulled Jisung down the aisle even though the boy fought against the pull. Chan pressed the sleeve of his sweater across his mouth and nose to keep from inhaling more smoke and then dragged Jisung through the thinnest part of the fire and out into the winter night.

The fire had spread to the neighboring buildings. The flames had leaped across the street to Minho’s Trinkets And Tokens.

And there was Minho. Standing at the curb, arms crossed over his chest, tapping his expensive shoes on the sidewalk in an impatient, frantic rhythm. “There you are, Bang Chan,” the elegant witch snapped. “Obliviating everything everywhere you go. As usual.”

Didn’t he see the fire? Couldn’t he feel the heat? How could he stand there so calmly, like none of this was happening. How could he find time to keep throwing insults at him? Chan swallowed air but it was hardly enough for him. He choked out, “Minho, it’s dangerous here. You have to get out.”

“You want me to leave, don’t you,” said Minho. He wasn’t talking about the fire. Chan knew that much. “You want me to leave your District and your life.” He spoke so calmly. So quietly. Yet Chan could hear him clearly over the distance between them. Over the spit and crackle of the fire. “If I leave, everything would go back to normal, wouldn’t it? With no other reason to grow or change, you’d go back to being your mediocre self. And you’d be happy with that.”

If Minho was going to spend all of the seconds they could be using to escape insulting him instead, Chan would just leave him! “Jisung, let’s go,” he cried out. “We have to find Hyunjin.” But as soon as he took a step down the sidewalk, he realized that his hand was empty. Chan turned around. 

Jisung was nowhere in sight! 

Had they gotten separated?

Was it possible that Chan had somehow left him inside? Chan looked up at his shop. It was nothing but a hollowed out skeleton now. The wooden framework was hardly able to stand as the fire ate everything in its path. But if Jisung was in there… Chan approached the wall of flame in spite of the risk to his life but as soon as he stepped close, the fire lashed out at him as if to keep him away.

“Just say it, Chan,” Minho’s hissing voice was right in Chan’s ear. The closeness of it sent an icy jolt up Chan’s spine even with the raging fire turning his skin hot. “Just say it.” Minho’s snake-like tongue darted out and licked a long, dry swipe up Chan’s neck. “Say that you hate me. I know you, Chan. I know that’s what you’re thinking.”

Chan spun away from the man’s touch, turned around and looked him in the eye. Feet shoulder-width apart, he steeled himself for the confrontation. “I don’t hate you.”

“How can you not, Chan,” said Minho. His eyes were green. His pupils were slits. Snake fangs protruded from his soft, pink gums and venom dripped from his lips. “I taunt you and provoke you and belittle you. You hate me so much because I’m every bit the witch you always wanted to be. I’m the witch you’d thought you’d be when you made the decision to leave home for university.”

“That’s not… That’s not true,” whined Chan. “I don’t hate you because of that. Let’s talk later. Let’s get out of here first. Can you help me find Hyunjin?”

The entire neighborhood was on fire. The sky was turning as bright an orange as dawn, that’s how high the flames towered. 

There was no one on the street. There was no help. No one was coming for them.

“All of the years you spent studying,” Minho continued, his s’s elongating into hisses due to the twistedness of his tongue. “Your childhood dreams… Your apprenticeship… Your training with the coven… All of it means nothing because I’m twice the witch you are. You don’t deserve to be District Witch, Chan. You’re an impostor.”

_ You’re an impostor, Chan. _

“No!” Chan screamed. “Get away from me, Minho!”

Minho grinned. As if the flare up of Chan’s anger was exactly what he was after. “Get angry with me, Chan,” Minho encouraged him. “Tell me how much you can’t stand me!”

“You’re always mean to me,” Chan yelled. “I just want to be nice. I want us to get along. I just want you-- I don’t want us to fight.”

“Well that’s too bad,” Minho hissed. Literally hissed. He opened his mouth wide. Venom dripped from the corners of his mouth. “Because as long as you keep doubting yourself, I’ll keep being better than you. As long as you keep doubting yourself, I’ll keep looking down on you.” He leaned close, running his forked tongue through the mess of venom spooling out of his mouth. His lips were right in front of Chan’s. The red was so close. So dangerous. Chan feared it. Chan wanted it. Minho snarled, “Say it, Chan. Say it! Say you want to be me.”

And then they were kissing.

It burned.

Chan felt numb from the poison. Felt overheated from the flames. Felt choked from the smoke. He couldn’t even cry because the air was so hot and dry. 

Minho’s mouth was still on his own, his snake tongue still invaded Chan’s mouth but, somehow, the elegant witch managed to continue speaking to him. “Say it, Chan. Speak your darkest fears, Chan. Say you want to be with me, Chan.”

And Chan was so close to his wit’s end that he let himself succumb to the fantasy. He mulled such a preposterous idea over in his head and his heart. Maybe, he let himself think, maybe he  _ did _ want--

Then Minho laughed into his mouth. Against his lips. 

He laughed and laughed and when he pulled away, Minho wore Jeongin’s face. Or, rather, Jeongin had been wearing Minho’s face. Had been wearing Jisung’s face. Had been wearing Hyunjin’s face. “I know you, Chan,” said Jeongin calmly as the fire and heat closed in on them. Burned them. “I know you.”

Chan let out a scream and shoved Jeongin away.

And then Chan was sucking cool, fresh air into his lungs.

He sat up in his bed, wheezing. Choking.

Covered from head to toe in ice-cold sweat. Shivering with adrenaline. Hardly able to catch his breath.

He saw the Big Blue Bird’s warm light spilling into his bedroom through the windows.

It was just a dream, he told himself. Some awful, terrible dream that couldn’t hurt him.

Yet he couldn’t breath all over again. He was surrounded by the fire even in his own bed, in his own house. An immense heat wrapped around his shoulders and squeezed him so tight his bones ached. His lungs seized.

“I was so scared,” Hyunjin cried into his neck.

Chan blinked. “Hyun--”

“I was super duper scared!” Tears spilled from his brown eyes and his whole body shook as he dug his fingers into Chan’s shoulders. As he pulled hard on Chan as if getting him out from beneath the comforter would save him from his nightmares. “I heard you crying so I came into your room. I wanted to help you. I really did,” the boy rambled. “I tried my best but you wouldn’t wake up and I got so scared. You were so sad, Channy-Chan, and I hate to see you sad because you don’t deserve to be sad but I couldn’t cheer you up because you wouldn’t wake up--” A sob tore out of his throat. “Please be happy, dad.”

Chan sucked air into his lungs. Was he still dreaming? Or was he awake? Was this really Hyunjin hugging him and shaking him and dragging him to the edge of the mattress?

Or was it Jeongin playing another foul, monstrous trick?

Chan tried to wrench Hyunjin’s arms off of him. Tried to push the boy away. Hyunjin would not be moved. In fact, he clung  _ harder _ . “Don’t be sad, Chan-a-banana. Are you sad because of me?” He sounded so despondent. As if his entire world was about to end. “I promise I’ll be better. I won’t do things to make you sad. I’m so sorry. Please don’t be sad because of me.”

_ Say it _ , the words vibrated into Chan’s skull like a warning siren.  _ Say that you hate me _ .

At last, Chan managed to rip himself free of Hyunjin’s grasp. He stared at the boy, right in the face. Took in the ugly sight of his tear-stained cheeks and snot-wet nose. He just had to be  _ sure _ . “Are you Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin’s sniffling came to an abrupt halt. A lone tear untangled from his eyelashes and dripped into the crease next to his nose. He looked into Chan’s eyes with his mouth agape as if he was shocked that Chan saw right through him already.

“Are you Hyunjin,” Chan asked again, far more sternly.

“No,” said Hyunjin. “I’m hungry.”

Chan stiffened.

Hyunjin’s stomach growled. “I’m hungry but Seungmin said the sheep have to shake a little more.”

Chan practically evaporated with relief. “It’s really you.” He wrapped his arms around Hyunjin’s middle and hauled the boy towards his chest in a hug.

That made Hyunjin giggle. He draped his arms over Chan’s shoulders and pressed his face into the crook of Chan’s neck. “Yay! It’s really me. Whatever that means!”

The dragon boy’s horns pricked at Chan’s jaw but he did not care. Great Big Blue, he was just glad that he’d found his way out of the flames. Chan leaned down and pressed his lips to Hyunjin’s forehead. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Decorating Hyunjin’s face in kisses. 

Hyunjin laughed even harder and squeezed Chan even tighter, bouncing up and down on the edge of the mattress. “I’m happy because I made you happy.”

“You’ll always make me happy,” said Chan. His throat was still tight and dry. His lungs still burned as if he’d actually survived a fire.

_ Say you hate me. _

“You’ll always make me happy, Hyunjin,” Chan repeated, as if saying it enough times would force the smoke away. “I love you.”

“Yay! I love you too,” Hyunjin squealed excitedly. With surprising strength, he hoisted Chan straight up off the bed and spun him around in a circle that had Chan’s feet swinging above the floor. “I’m cheered up because you’re cheered up after I cheered you up. I tried really hard to cheer you up. I tried to cheer you up for so long, Chan. For  _ so long _ .” Hyunjin settled him back down on the floor but he didn’t leave Chan alone for long. Already, he was tugging on the witch’s wrist, guiding him towards the door and out into the hall. “We have to tell everyone how good I was. They’ll be so proud of me. You were so sad but I cheered you up because I’m the best at cheering you up because you’re the best and everyone wants to be close to you.”

His words made only the bare minimum of sense but it was enough for Chan. Hearing the boy babble excitedly was ten times better than listening to him cry. 

And Chan couldn’t believe that he thought, even for a second, that Hyunjin was anyone except Hyunjin.

The dragon boy pulled him down the stairs and across the hall, headed towards the kitchen. Chan could hear the sounds of banging pots, smell the warm scent of a home-cooked feast.

But movement out of the corner of his eye made him stop short instead of following Hyunjin through the archway.

Chan turned and looked down at the end of the hall. 

Jisung stood there, barefoot, in a tank top and boxers. 

Okay. That was normal. It was what he usually wore to bed.

Jisung’s orange hair was an uncombed mess. That was also normal. It was the first thing in the morning and even Chan hadn’t been awake long enough to actually feel awake. 

A huge pile of dirty clothes was spread across the floor behind Jisung. More clothes than Chan thought the boy had. All of it had probably sat at the bottom of his bottomless backpack for ages. But the pile of clothes on the floor was also normal-ish as a lot of people threw their clothes there when they were standing in front of the washing machine.

But what wasn’t normal was the object Jisung had in his hand. Or, more accurately, it was so abnormal that it really could only be normal for Jisung.

“Come on,” Hyunjin whined, tugging on Chan’s arm. “We have to help Seungmin shake the lambs.”

“Wait one second,” Chan told him. He pulled Hyunjin behind him as he started down the hallway at a quick, panicked pace. “Jisung!”

The exclamation visibly startled the guy but he didn’t look up from his hard work. “What the hex, old man? You don’t have to yell. I’ve still got both ears.”

Chan had to ask the one question he didn’t think he’d ever have to ask  _ anyone  _ on the Bird’s green earth. “Why are you putting dish detergent in the washing machine?”

“How else would I clean my clothes,” Jisung asked seriously, squeezing the bottle in his hand and dumping more of the bright yellow liquid into the already sudsy wash.

“Isn’t that what the laundry detergent is for? For the laundry?” Chan pointed to the large green jug sitting on the shelf above the washing machine. Well within reach. Well within view.

Jisung looked up at Chan and then gasped. “Hex! You look like a mess.” 

“Goo’ morning, Jisung,” Hyunjin called out from behind Chan.

“Hey, lil bro,” Jisung answered him, hooking his gaze back towards his task. He squirted more dish detergent into the machine, filling the hall with a fresh burst of artificial citrus scent.

“Stop doing that,” Chan said. Gosh. How wasteful. He’d rather Jisung yank his heart out of his chest. “Stop!”

Jisung gave the bottle another squeeze for good measure. Even let slip a dastardly little  _ hehehe _ .

“Give me that,” Chan exclaimed, reaching wildly for the bottle.

Jisung managed to swing out of Chan’s reach, grinning like a loon.

“You have to be the real Jisung,” Chan pointed out. There couldn’t be any other explanation. “Because only the real Jisung would do something like this.”

“Are you calling me a mimic? I’ll have you know that I have always been this good looking.”

“No one was talking about your looks.” 

Jisung kept on, “I don’t have to copy anyone for a bod like this.” He flexed his rail-thin arms.

Taking advantage of his distraction, Chan lunged for the bottle of dish detergent again. Of course it was the expensive brand he’d bought as a way to treat himself at the start of the month. How did Jisung even find it?

“It’s already in there,” Jisung screeched, ducking away. “What do you want me to hexing do now?  _ Scoop it out _ ?” He exacerbated the problem by squeezing more of the liquid into the machine.

Chan just had to say it. “Dish detergent of all things!”

“But I heard that stuff is really good on tough, greasy stains.”

Chan groaned, exasperated. “Oh, don’t  _ encourage _ him, Yongbok!”

Jisung scrunched up his face in confusion, “Yongbok?”

“I… Wasn’t he-- Didn’t he just say…” Chan looked in the direction he’d heard the voice only to come face to face with Felix sitting on top of the dryer. Now that the black cat had Chan’s full attention, Felix reared up on his hind legs and planted a paw on Chan’s face. He opened his little mouth and meowed in a way that sounded suspiciously like, “Got your nose!”

Chan was definitely still half-asleep. Was the stress wrecking him that bad? “I need a strong cup of coffee.” He let go of Hyunjin’s hand to scoop Felix up into his arms. “I swear I just heard you talk.”

Jisung stopped tossing his laundry into the machine to frown at Chan. “Maybe you should put your brain in dish detergent.”

“It’s good on tough, greasy stains, I’ve just been told,” said Chan. He turned around, expecting Hyunjin to still be behind him but the boy must have gotten distracted and run off.

Felix must have been in a good mood because he didn’t squirm or struggle in Chan’s grip. Either that or being regularly manhandled by Hyunjin had made the cat appreciate a gentle ride all the more. 

“How did you sleep,” Chan asked his cat. 

Felix meowed as if in response but Chan, fortunately, could not understand him. That was great. Whenever he thought he was losing a smidgen of his mind, he was reminded that the cat was a cat and that the cat’s meows didn’t sound like complete sentences.

“If you’re going to hang around the house this much, should I get you a litter box?” Then he felt immediately silly for asking his cat a question. Well, not his cat.  _ A _ cat. “You know what… You are my cat at this point.”

Felix stretched his neck out and pushed the top of his head beneath Chan’s chin, letting out a quiet purr.

“Fine. I love you too,” Chan huffed.

He followed the noise and the delightful smell into the kitchen where Seungmin still seemed to be in the middle of his work at the stove. He seemed to be making quite the spread: sweet pancakes, eggs, French toast, pan-fried sausage. Chan nearly forgot what District they were in. The redhead looked over at him. “Well, Chan, ya hair looks like ya done stuck a fork in an outlet and then two-timed with a bolt of lightnin’.”

Chan made the executive decision to not look into any of the house’s mirrors before he got in the tub that morning. “Good morning, Seungmin.”

“Mornin’, Chan. We’ve got--” He looked up at the clock on the far wall. “--‘bout an hour and a quarter before eight. If everybody washes up all quick like, we will have just enough time to sat down and eat ‘fore we gotta go.”

A family breakfast.

Chan hadn’t had one of those since his mother was alive.

Seungmin gave him a smile, almost as if he could see what Chan was feeling. Then he turned back to the stove to resume his work.

Chan stood there for a minute. Kind of in awe. He watched as Seungmin flipped a pancake in the copper pan, creating a brand new sizzle in the air. Then he sidestepped in front of the other burner and used one hand to crack two eggs open on the rim of the big pan before dropping the yolks over the hot cast iron. He dropped the shells in a separate bowl then he grabbed a wooden spatula to scrape the eggs up from the bottom of the pan and began to quickly, fluidly scramble them. The big grin on his face and the glint in his eye as the Big Blue Bird’s light shone in through the window above the sink... He looked like he enjoyed life best when he was preparing food. 

“Thanks for doing all of this. You really didn’t have to after everything.” Chan kind of hated how things had turned out. Last night, when Seungmin had tried to leave, his truck had chosen that exact moment to decide not to start. Was it due to all of the driving he’d done? Was it due to the sudden drop in temperature as the snow piled up? Still, Seungmin fiddled with the ignition and then popped the truck’s hood and fiddled around under there too, but the weather wasn’t the best so he couldn’t see feather all what he was doing. Chan had offered the man the guest room at the end of the upstairs hall. The same room Minho had slept in when the elegant witch had found himself stuck in Chan’s house. Chan said, “I promise I’ll pay you back for all of this.”

“Chan,” Seungmin said firmly. “I’m doin’ this outta the goodness of ma heart.” He raised a threatening spatula in the District Witch’s direction. “Have you ain’t never been cooked for before? I ain’t doin’ nothin’ you gotta go outta ya way for. Aht!” He raised the spatula higher, towards Chan’s half-open mouth. “Don’t you dare go on and on ‘bout you not wantin’ to be indebted or something silly like that. Just let me do this, Chan. Now go help Hyunjin in the dinin’ room and get from underfoot.” He kicked out a leg, shepherding Chan towards the far side of the kitchen.

“Dining room?” Chan repeated. He stepped through the archway into the room in question. The long dining table was made of dark, gorgeous wood and there were enough plush chairs around it for everyone. Beyond the table, the large glass doors let in a boatload of the Big Blue Bird’s light and gave Chan quite the view of the house’s lovely, snow-covered backyard. “Wow, I forgot I had one of these,” he said, glancing around the dining room. Really. He had no business being in such a large house by himself. It felt good to have the space filled with people. Filled with sound. “Are you being helpful, Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin looked up at him, holding empty ceramic plates in both hands. “I’m being super duper helpful!” He placed one plate down on the table. “Seungmin’s so nice, Chan. He told me to put a plate in front of every chair!” He sat down the other plate. “I always learn so much when I’m with you and the people you know, Chan. I’m gonna be so smart when I grow up. Smarter than the smartest person in the whole wide world.”

“That’s nice to hear,” said Chan, still a bit distracted by the view of the yard through the back door’s glass. 

Felix hopped out of his slack arms and landed near-silently on the dining room’s hardwood floor. Tail raised curiously high, he threaded through Chan’s legs before running off, back through the kitchen and into the hall.

Chan’s terrifying dream chose that exact moment to come back and haunt him. “Do you ever think I’m mean to you, Hyunjin?”

The dragon boy whirled around to face him. His mouth hung open. His eyes went wide. “No. You’re the bestest, nicest person!” He rushed up to Chan and threw his arms around him, squeezing tight, pressing his face against Chan’s neck.

Chan wrapped an arm around Hyunjin’s waist but the doubt still clouded his mind. There were many times when Hyunjin frustrated him. The boy’s clinginess, his monumental appetite, the oddly wicked flares of his temper… But that’s just how kids were, right? They only knew what they knew. They had to be taught the rest. “You’ll tell me if I do something you don’t like, right?”

“I’ll tell you everything!” Hyunjin squealed in delight.

“Hyunjin,” Seungmin bellowed from the kitchen. “Did ya get all them plates out?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Hyunjin pulled away from Chan. “It was so much work. I lost count so many times.”

“Did ya wanna keep bein’ helpful,” Seungmin asked.

Such a dangerous, loaded question. “All I wanna do is be helpful!” He ran full speed into the kitchen.

Chan and Seungmin had the exact same reaction. Simultaneously, they shouted, “No running.”


	7. Palmistry 101: Fundamentals Of Fortune-Telling

They all had one more guest for breakfast than Chan was expecting.

Just as he sat the last plate of sizzling sausage patties and thick-cut bacon strips down on the center of the dining table, there was the loud, unmistakable rhythmic thumping of someone coming down the stairs.

Which would have been fine twenty minutes ago but now it was… odd. It was actually quite _ impossible _ because everyone who was supposed to be in the house was already washed up, dressed and downstairs, sitting at the table.

Chan looked around the dining room just to count heads.

There was Jisung, his lensless, lime green plastic glasses propped on top of his head, out of the way. He was all snug in a faded neon pink hoodie Chan had never seen him wear before.

In the seat next to him, Seungmin hummed a tune and poured a generous helping of dark maple syrup over his towering stack of pancakes.

Hyunjin was beside Chan. Of course. As always. He realized Chan was looking at him and his whole face lit up. “We have to sit next to each other, Channie-Chan,” he sang out, slapping the seat of the chair Chan was already about to sit down in. “We have to. We have to!”

“Okay, okay,” Chan surrendered, easing down into the chair.

Everyone was present and accounted for so why was there _ someone else _ coming down the stairs?

It wasn’t like he was expecting visitors this early in the morning.

Wait.

It couldn’t be.

Could it?

Chan tensed. Was it that sly little Jeongin making mischief again? Chan’s wand was upstairs in his room, right on his bedside table where he always kept it, but if push came to shove, he could chuck the mug of steaming hot coffee in his hands. “Who’s there,” he raised his voice.

At his sudden sternness, everyone else at the table fell quiet. One by one, they turned their heads towards where Chan was staring.

The pitter-patter of footsteps came closer and closer...

And then sleepy-eyed Yongbok came around the corner of the kitchen archway.

His black hair was clean yet unstyled and hung low across his freckled forehead. His narrow little body was practically drowning in the fabric of a black, cable-knit sweater that he had obviously stolen from Chan’s wardrobe. He padded across the kitchen tile on bare feet and strolled into the dining room, not even pretending to fight back a face-stretching yawn. He said, “You guys were going to start eating without me? Rude.”

Just that quickly, the tension in the air eased.

“What the hex is up, man,” Jisung called out in greeting. “Haven’t seen you in a minute.”

“Kitty!” Hyunjin screeched, bouncing in his seat. He would have made grabby hands if he wasn’t clutching his fork and spoon so tightly.

“Who is this,” Seungmin questioned, watching Yongbok circle the table. “Ain’t never seen him ‘round here.”

“You’ve never met him?” Jisung asked. “Lucky you.”

“It’s Yongbok,” squealed Hyunjin.

“It’s me,” repeated Yongbok, matching Hyunjin’s high, squeaky octave. He grabbed himself a plate and fork from one of the spare place settings at the far end of the table.

“Well, howdy, Yongbok. It’s sweeter than tapioca puddin’ on a sugared stick to meet ya,” said Seungmin. “I’m Seungmin.”

“I know,” said Yongbok. “I’ve seen you around.”

Seungmin held out his hand for a friendly shake. Yongbok just bent forward, pressed his nose to the island boy’s palm and inhaled sharply. Seungmin, to his credit, only looked marginally weirded out and gently, slowly drew his hand back, a polite smile stretching his lips. “Pleasure’s mine.”

Seungmin started to lower his hand to his lap but Yongbok reached out and grabbed hold of one of Seungmin’s fingers. “He's special to you,” said Yongbok rather cryptically. And maybe it was just the Big Blue Bird’s light shining at a weird angle through the glass patio doors but Yongbok’s eyes seemed to flash a little yellow. Like a pair of tiny topaz. Yongbok grinned. “Don’t worry. You’ll be special to him too. Just like all of us.” And without really explaining what he meant, he let go of Seungmin’s finger and continued around the table, scooping food onto his plate. 

It had been a while so Chan kind of forgot but... Yongbok was so _ weird _. “You’re so weird, Yongbok,” Chan said aloud.

“Nuh uh,” said Hyunjin. “He’s not weird. He’s Yongbok and he’s my bestest friend!” And then, to Yongbok, he said, “You’re my bestest friend!”

Yongbok huffed, “That better not mean I have to do extra work. You know I’m allergic to labor!”

Chan was still a little wary. “How’d you get in the house, Yongbok?” He saw the boy open his mouth to answer. “And don’t say very carefully.”

Yongbok snapped his mouth closed. Then he opened it again. “I’ve been here,” Yongbok explained simply, as if that were supposed to answer any and all questions. 

“Since when? Wait. Did Hyunjin let you in again,” Chan questioned.

Yongbok thought about it. “Technically, yeah. Like… He was there. He was around.”

Chan fixed Hyunjin with a stare but when the dragon boy met his eye, Hyunjin just shoved an entire pancake in his mouth and then smiled up at Chan, his cheeks stuffed so full he could hardly chew. Chan looked back over at Yongbok, still suspicious. He wanted to ask a dozen more questions but he couldn’t really think of a way to ask them.

Unfortunately, no one else was half as worried as he was. 

“I think I’ve got a case of the Mondays,” announced Jisung. “It might take me a bit to get back into the groove of deliveries.”

Yongbok said, “Every day is Monday.”

Hyunjin declared, “I hope we see Minho today. I hope he rushes over to the store and says a million nice things like usual!”

Chan grit his teeth. When Minho popped into Chan’s head, he didn’t have slits for pupils or fangs for teeth or venom for spit. He was just Minho and his lips were red and plump and pretty like apples. Chan suddenly wanted an apple. Suddenly wanted to take a bite out of one.

“Minho’s a hoot,” said Seungmin. “I ain’t never met nobody with his kind of honesty back on the island, I tell ya what’s true.”

Hyunjin nodded in agreement. “He’s so nice!”

“I don’t know if I’d flip open an almanac and call him _ nice _ ,” Seungmin said, “but he says whatever’s floating through his mind whenever he wants to say it. And that’s real bold. See, back on the island, we’ve got this lil thing called southern hospitality. Ya get real kind and polite with everybody, even if ya not all that cozy to ‘em, and then ya save all ya insults and trash talk until _ after _ ya done walked outta earshot.” He snickered at the thought. “But Minho just blurts everything out. He says it just to say it and he don’t give not two feathers ‘bout it and that makes him real interesting.”

Jisung shrugged his shoulders up to his ears. “He’s _ alright _.”

Yongbok was still piling breakfast onto his plate. Scrambled eggs, a fried egg, a buttermilk biscuit about as big around as his fist, some sausage, butter-slathered pancakes, a scoop of berries and fruit. More food than he could probably fit in his scrawny body. When he came full circle around the table again, he lowered his skinny, bony butt right onto Chan’s lap.

“Hey,” Chan complained. Yongbok was quite heavy to be so twiggy. Chan had to let go of his coffee mug in order to slide back on his seat and make more room. “There are other chairs.” 

That didn’t bug Yongbok. “I know,” he admitted. Then he shoved Chan’s plate aside so he could place his own food down on the table. 

“Yongbok, please,” Chan pleaded. “Not at the table.”

“You’re acting like this is the first time I’ve done this.”

Chan sighed. “How about after I finish my food?”

Yongbok whined, “But you’re the comfiest chair.”

Hyunjin gasped. “Really? He is?” Half-chewed food flew out of his mouth. “I want to try.” He started to stand up. “Let me try, let me try!”

“Later,” Chan said quickly, reaching out a hand and clamping it tight on Hyunjin’s shoulder to keep him from standing. “Definitely later.”

“Awww,” Hyunjin whined, but he sank back down and resumed his meal.

Chan was still on edge. He just couldn’t bring himself to lower his guard. His dream from that morning lingered around him like a physical thing in the corners of the room. His dredged-up fears echoed faintly in his head. Fire and smoke. Heat and light. He hated not being able to trust what it was that he saw. It was the worst feeling. Jeongin had played enough tricks on him that he was positive such doubt would never leave him. “Are you really Yongbok? Or are you Jeongin?”

Jisung rolled his eyes. “Are you gonna ask _ everybody _ that today?”

“Yes,” said Chan flatly. Because he needed to ask or he wouldn’t be able to relax. “Answer.”

Yongbok just made a low, unamused noise at the back of his throat before shoving a strip of bacon in his mouth. “Can’t believe there’s no fish,” he muttered.

Chan put his hands under Yongbok’s arms and tried to lift the guy off of him but Yongbok just stretched his torso and twisted around a bit so that no matter how Chan yanked on him, he could remain planted on Chan’s lap. Chan reconfigured his grip beneath Yongbok’s armpits and tried to lift the guy again but Yongbok purposefully went limp in his arms, his body kinda sorta feeling like putty that Chan couldn’t quite get his hands all the way around. 

There was no removing him.

Chan gave up. He sat back in his seat with a defeated sigh but he wasn’t entirely done. “Answer me, Yongbok,” said Chan sternly but not unkindly. It wasn’t time to be mean. Yet. “Or are you really Jeongin under there?”

“Do I smell like sneeze to you,” Yongbok asked, noticeably impatient. “If I smell like sneeze, then I’m Jeongin.” He leaned back, pushing his shoulder against Chan’s face, holding his body close to the witch’s nose.

Chan turned his head away. Yongbok didn’t smell like sneeze. He smelled like Chan’s soap and shampoo and body lotion. Like Yongbok had just gotten out of Chan’s tub. Still not convinced, the District Witch demanded, “Say something Yongbokish!”

Yongbok stabbed a sausage with his fork and lifted it to his mouth. “Sorry, pal. That’s one of the languages I _ don’t _ know.”

Jisung didn’t even pretend to hide his snort from the other end of the table.

“Tell me something only the real Yongbok would know,” Chan tried one more time.

“He’s not the hexing mimic, Chan,” said Jisung, growing bored of the free entertainment. “I can tell just by looking at him.”

“Mimic?” Seungmin sat up so quickly he nearly knocked his glass of fresh orange juice over. “Well, cover me in ranch dressin’ and call me an eight-tailed gumiho! A real mimic? I’ve only read ‘bout the feathered things in reference books and old bestiaries.” 

“I guess they’re cool and all,” said Jisung. “But the one we’ve got is a little annoying.”

“Well, what do they look like,” Seungmin asked, genuinely curious. He leaned out of his chair towards Jisung. “Are they like the pictures in the books? With all the teeth? And the dozen eyes?”

“Not really,” said Yongbok, tilting his head in deep thought. “But he’s taller than you’d think he’d be.”

Seungmin glanced around as if he’d find the mimic standing in one of the dining room’s corners. “Y’all tellin’ me y’all got one just sittin’ in the house somewhere?”

“He’s not really _ ours _,” answered Chan. If anything, Jeongin had just sort of forced his way into their lives. “And he’s not really welcome.”

“Well I’ll be,” said Seungmin. Then another thought occurred to him. “Ain’t the feathered things extinct?”

“Yeah, he stinks,” Hyunjin chirped. “But not super duper bad... Just like… kinda weird bad.”

Seungmin nodded like that was the most important thing he’d heard. “The things are extinct so how is there one just runnin’ all over?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” said Jisung. “We don't know where he came from or how he got here. All we know is that he wants to eat Chan’s anger which is weird because, like, Chan’s a pushover, dude.” 

“Hey now,” Chan chided.

Jisung ignored him. “In fact, we’re trying to catch the mimic and hexing sell him but it has to be on the black market because if we’re legit about it, we’ll just get prestige and we can’t become filthy stinking rich off prestige.”

“Minho says there’s prestige pie,” said Hyunjin. “And I want to eat it!”

Chan said, “I’d much rather hand him over to the coven. I’m pretty sure I’m still on thin ice with the higher ups. I need some job security.”

Yongbok added, “We just have to catch him. Again. And not let him get away this time.”

Seungmin gasped. “Well, if anybody knows a thing or two ‘bout huntin’ and trappin’ it would be yours truly.” He pointed to himself. “Whenever the goats break the fence and get loose, mama always sends me after ‘em.”

“Oh sweet,” Jisung exclaimed. “We sure could use you. We didn’t really have a team thing going last time so he kinda just walked out the door with his middle fingers in the air.”

That wasn’t how things had gone at all.

Jisung kept on, “I’m sure he’ll come around again soon. The kid wants to be the new and improved Chan or whatever it is he keeps screaming about so he hangs around us a lot so he can take over the District and stuff.”

Something Jisung said earlier lodged itself in Chan’s head. “Wait… You can tell Yongbok’s not the mimic just by looking at him?”

“Jeez, old man. That’s so five minutes ago. Can you, like, keep up?”

But Chan really needed to know this. “You can see through the mimic’s disguise?”

Jisung shrugged. “I did it before, didn’t I?”

That was true. Jisung had taken all of five seconds to look at Fake-Chan and then at Real-Chan and knew exactly which was which.

“I just know you, Chan,” said Jisung. Then he waved a hand, indicating everyone sitting at the table. “I know all of my friends.”

Chan heaved a great big sigh and relaxed back into his seat. Perhaps he _ was _ overthinking.

He was just worried. It made him anxious to know that he could spill his heart out to someone only for them to laugh in his face and not be who he needed them to be at all.

“Say ahh,” Yongbok sang out, breaking into Chan’s thoughts. 

The District Witch blinked and looked up.

The black-haired boy was half turned around on Chan’s lap, holding a forkful of cheesy scrambled eggs in front of the witch’s mouth.

Chan parted his lips and let Yongbok feed him. He barely got the chance to chew and swallow before Hyunjin was reaching over, attempting to feed him as well. “My turn, my turn,” he held up an entire pancake, sticky with syrup and butter, ready to shove it into Chan’s mouth.

If Jisung could see through the mimic’s disguise, couldn’t Chan?

“You have to say ahh, Chan,” Hyunjin scolded him with a pout, “or otherwise the food won’t work. Say ahh!”

Chan said ‘ahh’ and then he garbled and gasped a bit as Hyunjin stuffed the pancake into his mouth, but even as the witch sat there and chewed, he was still chin-deep in his worry.

He _ would _ be able to tell if the people closest to him were real or fake. Wouldn’t he?

He knew and loved them all well enough.

Didn’t he?

☆★

As Seungmin’s truck still wouldn’t--or couldn’t--start, the gang had to walk to Chan’s Tchotchkes. 

It wasn’t all that far, only about a twenty-four minute hump or so from the house, but it felt like longer when the wind was cold and bit through your coat and you had a young dragon pointing at everything and saying good morning to everyone they passed, leaving smiles wherever they went and whispers of “That’s our District Witch. So polite.” in their wake.

After the third or fourth time it happened, Seungmin said, “Chan, you’re spreadin’ light everywhere you go.”

The District Witch glanced over his shoulder at him. “Huh? How? I’m not doing anything.”

“Because you’re you, Chanberry,” said Hyunjin with a serious nod.

That just made Chan go “Huh?” again.

“I can see it, Chan.” Seungmin pointed to his eyes. “You change people’s auras. You brighten them up. Add color.” A small little smile danced at the corner of his mouth. “You’re doin’ a good job.”

Chan didn’t really know what to say to that. It felt odd to be so openly complimented. He was so used to struggling. So used to barely hitting the minimum requirements. He wasn’t really sure how long it had been since someone had plainly told him that he was doing a good job. “I’m just okay,” he deflected.

“Old man’s alright at his job, I guess,” said Jisung, hiding his proud grin with a cough into his fist and a shrug. “Like… he’s _ okay _.”

“All he’s gotta do now is learn to stop sleeping with his door shut so that I can walk in and out of his room whenever I want,” said Yongbok super casually as if that weren’t the weirdest thing to say. “Just leave it open a crack. Really, I only need a little bit.”

“If you want to sleep over, you can have the couch. Or I can set you up something in Hyunjin’s room.”

“It’s gotta be your bed,” said Yongbok. “It’s the comfiest and you’re the warmest. I’ve tried everyone else.”

“What about me,” asked Seungmin. “I ain’t been out here but one night.”

“You snore,” said Yongbok, scrunching up his nose. “Louder than Hyunjin.”

“Louder than Hyunjin,” Chan repeated. Because he’d heard Hyunjin snore and… wow.

“You’re the best candidate,” Yongbok said, wrapping both of his arms around one of Chan’s. “But don’t worry. If Minho’s over, I’ll sleep down the hall.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Chan pried his arm loose from Yongbok’s clingy grip. “And when is Minho ever going to come to my house again?”

“Sometime this week,” said Jisung. “I’m putting money on it.”

Chan rolled his eyes. It always felt like Jisung was making fun of him. 

Loudly, Seungmin said, “I do know one thing. I can’t believe that this is all you mainlanders do for Winter Solstice.” He glanced up at all of the lanterns and strings of fairy lights and snowflake decorations and banners strung up on almost all of the buildings they were passing. “No wish trees? No sparkle trees? Do y’all even _ know _ how to celebrate? Just give me one day and I’ll show ya how we do on the island.”

Just how long was Seungmin planning on staying, Chan wondered. He was coming with them to the shop to find something that may help him get his truck up and running. Chan had given him directions to the auto parts store but Seungmin had insisted that Chan would have exactly what he needed.

“As long as there’s food involved, you can do whatever the hex you want.”

“Can I wish for peanut butter on a wish tree? I’d love it if I could wish for peanut butter on a wish tree.”

“Can I wish for a nap? Because I could use _ at least _ four of the things.”

They chattered on and on. Chan looked from Hyunjin to Seungmin to Yongbok to Jisung. Great Big Blue, there were a lot of them. “Guys,” he said. “I know you all like hanging around the shop, but--”

“You gotta meet your hexing sales goals,” Jisung cut in, “and we shouldn’t get in the way of customers, blah blah blah, old man stuff, yadda yadda yadda, do something productive. Don’t look at me like that. You_ know _ that was what you were about to say.”

Chan just fixed him with a look. He wasn’t going to use those exact words, but--

“Need I remind you,” said Jisung, “I’m your _ business partner _. It’s these other freeloaders you’ve gotta worry about.”

Despite himself, Chan smiled. He shook his head and looked away. “I can’t stay mad at you.”

“You can’t stay mad, period,” said Yongbok. “Even when I try to get you mad on purpose.”

“Oh, you’re definitely more successful at that than you think,” said Chan. 

“I’d be even more successful if it didn’t require so much effort.”

Jisung said, “I can give you some tips.”

Sometimes Chan missed the days when it was just him and his broom but he had gotten so used to always having someone with him that he wasn’t sure he wanted to go back to those lonely days. 

“Look, look,” Hyunjin pointed excitedly, jumping up and down. “It’s Minho! It’s Minho!”

Chan calmly asked, “Where is he?”

Jisung grinned. “Oooh, someone’s eager!” He poked Chan in the side.

Chan swatted his finger away. “Eager to walk in the opposite direction, yes,” said Chan. Then, again, he asked, “Where is he, Hyunjin?”

“Right there. Right in front of us.” He pointed with even more passion and enthusiasm, as if that were even possible.

Chan looked in the direction Hyunjin pointed but couldn’t see Minho.

It was first thing in the morning. Commuters on their way to work or school were clogging up the sidewalk of Thirteenth Street. Vendors at their food stalls sold hot, steaming street food at the curbs to help combat the winter chill. Ladies on their way to sell their wares at the market pulled wagons and small carts full of oddities behind them through the snow. 

“He’s right there! You aren’t looking. You have to look.”

Hyunjin took off running. Or he would have if Chan’s parental instincts hadn’t kicked in and made him grab a fistful of the hem of Hyunjin’s coat at the last possible moment. “Don’t go where I can’t see you.”

“But Minho’s right there. He’s so nice, Chan. He’ll watch me. He’ll watch me.” And before Chan knew it, Hyunjin had slipped from his grip and was gone like he’d just spotted a fresh jar of peanut butter.

“Hyunjin,” Chan shouted at the boy’s back. “Slow down!” It was no use, though. Hyunjin was like the wind, barrelling past people and halfway slipping on the snow as he ran forward.

_ Now _ Chan could spot Minho. The elegant witch had his hat low over his eyes as usual, stepping briskly. He moved in the same direction they were headed, walking towards their shops just one block farther. The witch didn’t see Hyunjin coming and, even from such a distance, Chan heard an inelegant screech of surprise slip from Minho’s mouth as Hyunjin hugged him from behind.

“Oh no,” Chan mumbled. “Minho’s going to hate me.” He picked up his pace. “He’s going to hate me.”

“Trust me. He’s not going to hate you,” Jisung shouted after him as Chan bent into a half-jog.

By the time Chan caught up to them, Minho had peeled himself out of Hyunjin’s grip and was physically straining to hold the boy at arm’s length. “Ugh,” he groaned as soon as he spotted Chan. “Should have known you wouldn’t be far behind.”

In a neutral tone, Chan said, “Good morning.” 

He expected a _ What’s good about it _ in return. He got a “Good morning, District Witch,” instead.

“Sorry about him,” said Chan. “He just really likes you. He’s always… He’s always saying that you’re nice.”

Minho’s strength faltered. Hyunjin managed to get one arm around his neck.

Chan had to tug extra hard on the hood of Hyunjin’s coat to get the boy to unhand Minho. 

Slowly, leisurely, they started walking again. Just a few seconds ago, the shop seemed terribly far away. Now it loomed dangerously close, threatening to cut their time together short.

“I’m actually kind of glad I ran into you,” Chan blurted out.

Minho perked up. He stood up straight and pushed the brim of his witch hat back a smidgen. Now his eyes were no longer in shadow. They caught the light of the Big Blue Bird and sparkled a little. He asked, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Chan confirmed. “I have something important to ask you. Although I think it might be a tad embarrassing.” 

Minho’s face, usually blank and stoic like that of a porcelain doll’s, warmed with what might have been excitement. “You can ask me anything, District Witch.”

Chan tugged on Hyunjin’s coat collar, flipping their positions so that he was walking directly next to Minho instead. “Does Daisy ever talk to you?”

Minho may have just told the District Witch that he could ask him anything but that was clearly not a question Minho wanted to be asked. His expression hardened into his usual displeased scowl. “Are you daft? Are you joking?”

“I’m asking seriously.”

“Cha-- District Witch. You must be kidding.”

“No. I’m really asking. Does she speak to you? I know you sing to her but does she ever say anything back? Because… There’s this cat. My cat. And I swear that I can hear him speak words to me sometimes and--”

Minho shushed him.

Chan fell quiet. He probably should have asked anyone _ but _ Minho.

Minho stared into Chan’s face and watched with a touch of regret as the District Witch’s frown deepened and his eyes grew moist with sadness. Then, in a slow and quiet voice, Minho said, “Pets can't talk, Chan.”

“But I could have sworn…” Chan let his words trail off. If it was just once or twice, he wouldn’t worry about it, but he’d heard Felix say things to him way too often lately… Things that sounded like meows one second but a human language the next. It wouldn’t be so upsetting if he wasn’t the only one who could hear him. Great Big Blue, was he _ that _ stressed? He thought he’d been doing a better job of relaxing lately.

“Well, maybe pets can talk if you cast a genius-level spell on them or something,” Minho figured. “I’ve never tried. But even then, could you get a complete sentence out of one?” Now the question was making him _ think _. “I should ask one of my university friends…”

Chan sighed. “Don’t worry about it, Minho. Really, it’s a silly question.”

A brief silence. 

There was a large crowd of people on the sidewalk ahead of them. The two witches had to press closer together to avoid getting jostled.

Then Minho said, “Speaking of silly questions, can I ask you one?”

Chan nodded slowly, ready but also not ready to hear whatever long-winded insult Minho had for him next.

“Can I read your palm?”

It wasn’t what Chan had been expecting. An attack on his flaws, sure. Exposure of his shortcomings, definitely. But Minho was willing to just _ volunteer _ his talent like that? They hadn’t even been talking about something that would warrant a bit of fortune-telling. Hmmm. Maybe Minho would use the palm reading as a way to insult Chan again. But even with that glaring risk, Chan took a deep breath and said, “Fine.”

Minho reached out. He grabbed hold of Chan’s hand and laced his fingers between Chan’s and squeezed gently.

Okay. That was a little weird. Didn’t Minho need to see Chan’s palm in order to read it? If he pressed their palms together, he wouldn’t be able to read anything. 

Maybe it was some new technique he was trying out? Chan was no palm reader. He didn’t know.

“I knowed it,” screeched Seungmin, coming up right behind them. “I knowed it!”

Chan looked over his shoulder to see Seungmin wildly pointing at them. “You knowed-- I mean… You knew what?”

Seungmin slapped Jisung hard on the shoulder, nearly knocking the slight boy over. “Now what did I tell ya! What did I say? I knowed it.”

Jisung groaned and placed his hand gingerly over the spot where Seungmin had just struck him. “You got hexing lucky.”

“Ain’t no luck ‘bout it,” Seungmin declared. “Just good eyes.”

Yongbok squeezed in between them. He grinned wide, showing off his white and slightly pointy teeth. “They make a good pair.”

“Don’t they,” agreed Seungmin.

“I saw it coming first,” yelled Jisung. “I knew it before any of you guys did.”

“But it’s my advice that done got them to where they is right now!”

“Nuh uh,” Hyunjin chimed in. “It was me. I told everyone that he’s super duper nice.”

“Bird’s claws,” Minho griped, lowering his hat over his eyes like he didn’t want to be caught dead with them.

“It was me and my sick as hex skills!”

“It was me and ma tried and true, slap-ya-mammy Jeju matchmakin’ techniques!”

“No, I said the Ice Prince was melting before anyone else said the Ice Prince was melting.”

“Hey, does anyone have any fish? Anyone? No? Really?”

Minho pulled his hat even lower over his face. “Strike me down now.”

Chan had to get some kind of control over them. “Guys.”

“Y’all think we live backwards on the island but we really live forward. We live in the future. Ahead of all of youse.”

“Whether you live in the past or the future, I’m actually mad as hex your stupid idea worked.”

“Ya owe me a soda, Jisung. Now run along and get me somethin’ orange and fizzly and full o’ sugar!” Seungmin slapped Jisung’s shoulder again.

“What are you two talking about,” asked Chan. He definitely felt like he was missing something.

Minho must not have been missing anything because he spun around towards them and growled out, “If you two speak another word…”

It was like a dare and the boys were more than eager to test the limits. “Now, Minho, I can give ya some additional tips on bringin’ him ‘round but I’mma have to charge ya cuz I ain’t got to the good stuff yet.”

“Or,” said Jisung, “you can ask me for some tips.” He grinned mischievously and gave a waggle of his eyebrows. 

“Quiet. Both of you,” Minho snapped. He was so tense that he was squeezing Chan’s hand extra hard, digging his fingernails into Chan’s soft skin.

He was still reading Chan’s palm? Wasn’t he taking a while? The last time he’d done it, it had only taken him a breath. Now it had been several breaths. Several minutes. Were their palms not pressed close enough for it to work? Chan squeezed Minho’s hand back, hoping that would help.

“So who ya gonna pick,” Seungmin questioned. “Or are you gonna pay extra for the ultimate course and have us _ both _ teach ya? I don’t know how y’all do things in your neck of the woods, but in mines, we take lump sums but we can also take little chunks of cash at a time.”

“You have to sign up for our special weekly payment plan,” announced Jisung. “We’ll need your name, resident number and credit card information including those three numbers on the back.”

Chan had to ask again, “What are you two _ talking about _?”

“Huntin’ big game,” Seungmin said at the exact same time Jisung said, “Nunya bizz.”

Chan narrowed his eyes in suspicion. They were _ up to something _ and it couldn’t be good. But it would have to wait. They had reached Chan’s Tchotchkes and Chan fumbled in his coat pocket to find the keys for the door and then fumbled all over again to try and slot the key in the lock.

Great Big Blue, this would be so much easier if he could use both of his hands. He pushed the door open.

Hyunjin charged past him to beat him inside and flip on all of the light switches. “I’m helping, I’m helping,” he chanted, punching in the alarm code to disarm the machine. “I’m the most helpful. No one’s more helpful than me. Right, Chan?”

“Right,” Chan agreed, following the boy inside.

Yongbok brushed past Chan next and he went straight for the shop’s large front window and made himself comfortable on the wooden sill, basking in the morning light of the Big Blue Bird.

  
  


Jisung turned away from the door. “I’m going to get all of your mail out the box. No charge.”

Chan attempted to remove his coat and hang it on the hook by the door but Minho still had his left hand gripped tight. He turned to look at Minho and at his curly hair peeking out from beneath his hat, at his dazzling eyes and at the pretty lace choker wrapped snug around Minho’s throat. Minho looked very nice today but it also looked like he wasn’t trying very hard to read Chan’s palm. “Do you have to hold my hand so tightly,” he asked in a low voice. Not that it hurt, he thought, just that it might hurt if Minho let go.

“Yes, I do,” said Minho. “Because if I let go now, I may not get another chance to hold it again.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment. The winter wind gusting across their skin from one direction. Noise from inside of the shop assaulting their ears from the other direction.

The world was chaos but, in that moment, between the two of them, there was a little bit of peace.

“What are you doing to me, Chan,” Minho asked, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it.

“I’m not doing anything,” Chan replied honestly. “I’m just standing here.”

“And that’s more than enough.”

They’d had a conversation just like this once before, Chan remembered. Practically these exact same words but the feeling was so much different now and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. “You aren’t wasting time, are you,” asked Chan.

Minho exhaled sharply in a barely-contained snort of laughter. “No, I’m not.”

“I mean,” Chan explained himself, “Your store hours are different from mine but… there’s not anything else you need to be doing, right?”

“There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.”

Chan relaxed. “Okay, good. I don’t know how much longer this palm-reading thing needs to last but…” He lifted their hands and spared their interlocked fingers but the shortest of glances. “...there’s a chance I’ll need both of my hands to do my work.”

“That’s what she said,” Jisung said, elbowing his way past Chan to get indoors, his arms stacked with resident request letters and small packages.

From inside, Seungmin yelled, “If y’all don’t shut that door! Ya lettin’ all that cold air in!”

“Ya lettin’ all that cold air in,” Hyunjin sang out, matching Seungmin’s sing-song accent perfectly.

“Okay, let’s go inside, then,” said Chan. He tugged Minho over the threshold of the shop and began to close the door.

A strong hand slapped down hard on the door, startling both Chan and Minho.

Almost by reflex, Chan said, “We open in ten minutes. Please wait until then.”

“I’m so sorry to disturb you,” said a chilly voice that did not sound apologetic at all. 

Chan recognized that voice. He’d heard it on television. Heard it in conference calls along with all of the other District Witches. 

He turned around and gasped at who he saw. He was looking with his own eyes but could hardly believe it.

Standing in front of him was a face that was so ridiculously familiar to him. He’d seen that toothy smile on television, in paintings, plastered all over Witch-tagram.

Minho went rigid and still next to him, clamping down on Chan’s hand like a vice.

“May I come in,” said Yien Tuan. “I don’t mean to intrude but this won’t take but a moment.”


	8. The Strongest And Most Talented Witch In The Whole Country

Chan was still a little stunned. A little starstruck. He could see it with his own eyes and he could hear it with his own ears but he couldn’t believe it in his head. “Wow.” It was all he could say.

He had no clue that someone as famous as  _ the _ Yien Tuan even knew where his humble shop was located. Let alone had the time of day to come all the way down here in person! 

“I…” Chan stammered out. Did he introduce himself? Did he ask for a photo? “You’re…”

He thought about Yien’s own shop. About that towering glass and steel  _ department store _ that the man ran with the help of a hundred employees and a dozen apprentices. A dozen! And Chan didn’t even have one! The massive store even mailed out monthly catalogs, that’s how large they were. People who didn’t even live in that District were filling out the forms for their mail-in orders. The building was so large it had its own upstairs restaurant. It had its own parking deck! It had its own bus stop! And the man in charge of all of that was casually standing on Chan’s doorstep. Well, not… casually. Yien didn’t go anywhere casually. He was dressed for business in his white blouse, of sorts, something in the material sparkling like mica. He also sported designer pants so thickly striped with white that they were barely black. In fact, he wore so little black that if Chan didn’t know who he was, he wouldn’t have guessed the man was a witch at all.

Yien asked sweetly, “Will you invite me in?”

Chan lost his words. “How… We were just-- But, I’m not ready--”

“Great,” Yien Tuan cut in. He flashed a toothy smile. “Really, Chan, there’s only one thing I need to check. I will be in and out before you know it. Don’t mind me.” He thumped Chan’s shoulder with the back of his hand.

Wait. 

_ The _ Yien Tuan knew his name? 

_ The _ Yien Tuan just touched him? Even though he was super neat and very important and wearing a long coat made from some white-furred animal that was probably custom-made and as expensive as everything in Chan’s inventory combined? “If I-- I mean, I was-- We--” Chan’s voice got lodged in his throat. He couldn’t even string an entire thought together. Couldn’t even move.

It didn't matter. 

Yien Tuan practically glided into the shop in his calf-high boots with their unmistakably red soles. He stepped around Minho and Chan standing in the doorway with no more difficulty than water flowing past rocks. 

Chan said, “Oh, how do you do? Should I… Should I hang up your coat?”

“No, no,” Yien told him. “I won’t be staying that long.” 

And it was so easy to see why he was so popular. He was handsome like a model, with a square jaw and long, fine nose. Manicured eyebrows and a charming smile. His talent was so raw and so immense that he needed no witch hat. Just a black barrette that glittered like a nighttime sky. Whatever of his hair that the clip couldn’t keep pinned down was messy from the winter wind, half of his locks as black as pitch, the other half stark white. Even lighter than Chan’s starlight-silver locks. But as far as Chan knew, it wasn’t natural. Yien got his startling color from potions.

“Wonderful place you have here,” Yien sang out, hardly taking the time to look around. “It’s very… quaint. Very grassroots. It’s  _ lovely _ .”

On the other side of the shop, Jisung and Seungmin and Hyunjin’s excited conversation petered out into silence as they all swung their heads around to identify the loud-voiced stranger. Even Yongbok, halfway into his first of many naps, lifted his head off of the windowsill to cautiously watch the proceedings.

Yien Tuan did a little bit of a spin in the middle of the aisle, taking in the sight of the cluttered shelves and the wallpaper partially peeling off the walls and the dust gathering in the rafters. “Loving this rustic, homely concept. It is quite unique. Extremely ahead of all the trends, I say. I don’t think anyone else quite does it like this.” He walked to the end of the aisle and was all too quickly out of sight.

“Chan,” Minho spoke softly into the District Witch’s ear. “This is not good. In fact, it’s bad.”

At long last, Chan shook his wonderment and surprise away. He looked over at Minho. “Hmm? Why?”

Minho leaned even closer, putting his nose to Chan’s cheek. He whispered, “He came here to take him back. I told you this would happen. I warned you.”

Chan tilted his head to the side. “He wants to take  _ who _ back?” 

“Your apprentice,” Minho hissed. “The one you took from him.”

Chan stared off into space for one painfully long moment. He didn’t  _ take _ anyone. “I don’t have an--” 

“That country boy,” Minho cut him off. “He’s here for the country boy.”

“There’s no way,” said Chan. “There’s no way he knows Seungmin is here.” It hadn’t been but a day!

Minho leaned back a little so that he could look the District Witch in the eye. “Want to bet?”

Okay. So maybe there was a chance that Yien Tuan didn’t come all the way out here to District 9 to do some weekday shopping. Maybe there really was trouble on the horizon. Trouble did always seem to follow Chan wherever he went, as hard as he tried to avoid it. He asked Minho, “Did you want to leave?”

Minho shut the shop’s front door and locked it as if to keep everyone else out… or all of them in. “We are going to face this together, Chan. I’m not going to leave you.” 

And that was… oddly reassuring.

Minho tightened his grip on Chan’s hand as if to remind the District Witch that he was still trying to read his palm. “We should keep our eyes on him.”

“Alright then. Let’s see what he wants.” Chan guided Minho by the hand up the aisle and to the other side of the sales floor where Jisung, Hyunjin and Seungmin huddled behind the cash wrap while Yien Tuan leaned his weight against the counter and grinned at them.

“Good morning, good morning,” the famous witch chirped. “How refreshing it is to see so many warm smiles at the start of a shift.”

None of the boys were smiling.

Hyunjin hid behind Jisung as if the orange-haired boy wasn’t head and shoulders shorter than him. Seungmin stood ramrod straight, the total opposite of his usual lax posture.

Jisung, never one to be intimidated, looked their guest in the eye and said, “Sup, witch?”

“That’s him saying hello,” Chan piped up, leading Minho around the end of the aisle and up to the counter next to Yien.

“It is, actually,” Jisung stated.

“Wonderful. Just wonderful,” Yien commented. He looked absolutely delighted for a reason Chan couldn’t quite figure out. “That fierce, carefree attitude of yours reminds me of me when I was young and dumb.”

Jisung’s grin faltered.

Yien said, “Enjoy your youth while you can, little one. You’ll have to be held accountable for your words and actions eventually.”

Jisung demonstrated an absolutely astounding level of self-control by not saying anything.

Chan said something for him. “I look out for him. I teach him.”

“So you say.” Yien’s focus slid from Jisung to Hyunjin. “And what do we have here? A very, very, very young dragon. His horns haven’t even completely grown in yet.” Yien leaned over the counter to give Hyunjin’s tag and collar a closer look. “Hyunjin, huh? He’s much too young to be in the system. How is that even legal? Who did you get to pull such strings?” He reached out a hand as if to make a grab for Hyunjin’s tag.

Chan clamped a hand down on Yien’s shoulder. It shocked him how soft the fur of the man’s jacket was but how firm the muscle of his shoulder was beneath it.

Yien reached over and pried Chan’s fingers off of his coat.

Hyunjin defensively let out a low, threatening noise like fire crackling in the hearth.

All Jisung had to do was reach a hand behind him and gently touch the dragon boy’s wrist to make him quiet down. To Yien, Jisung said, “If you need help finding anything in the store, just let us know.”

It wasn’t funny at all but Yien still laughed. It was a beautiful laugh. The laugh of a superstar. Yien turned to look at Chan. “You’re no ordinary witch, are you?”

“Oh, I’m very ordinary,” Chan said quickly. “I’m entirely dull and maybe even below average.”

His humbleness made Yien chuckle even harder.

“Hey,” said Jisung, glaring in Chan’s direction, “no one except me can hexing talk about you like that.” Then Jisung looked to Chan’s left. “And Minho.”

Minho frowned. “Don’t drag me into your foolishness.”

Jisung would not be quieted. “I insult him out of love. What do  _ you _ insult him out of? Is it also love?”

That startled Minho into silence, his eyes wide, his nostrils flaring.

“Stop being a menace,” Chan scolded Jisung.

For once, Jisung did not fight back.

Yien chuckled once again. The sound was clear and vibrant like crystals rubbing together. “You have to be quite the remarkable witch, Bang Chan.” Yien turned to face the three boys on the other side of the counter once more. “You just have a… very interesting, rare little collection here.” He made a vague motion with one of his hands towards Hyunjin huddling behind Jisung. “You must be close to perfection to have such a powerful creature being so subservient to you.” 

Something about that word didn’t sit right with Chan. “Hyunjin is not  _ subservient _ to me.” 

“No, no, no,” Yien said. His gaze lowered from Hyunjin to Jisung and his smile stretched his lips just a tad wider, showing off the pointed ends of his incisors. “I wasn’t talking about the dragon.”

Jisung flattened his mouth into a thin line and said, from between clenched teeth, “Do you wanna hexing  _ go _ , old man?”

Yien wasn’t at all intimidated. In fact, he just settled even more of his weight onto the surface of the counter as if to relax further. His gaze landed on the usually loud island boy who was now terribly silent. “And you…”

Seungmin gripped the edge of the counter so hard that his knuckles and the skin around his nails turned pinkish-white.

“You have so much promise. So much potential,” Yien continued. “So much, in fact, that I’m here to go against everything I stand for and give you one more chance at a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

It was Minho’s turn to pull Chan along. The elegant witch tugged him around the corner of the counter so that they were standing behind it along with the other boys, the cash wrap like a barrier between all of them and Yien’s gentle smile and half-moon eyes.

“I’m--” Seungmin squeaked out. It was the first noise he’d made since Yien had arrived.

“Work for me,” Yien offered. He raised a hand up to his messy hair and smoothed down the flyaway locks. “We can get all of the paperwork sorted and have you on the payroll by the end of the day.”

Seungmin’s face went red, like he was angry or ashamed. He lowered his gaze to the surface of the counter, unable to meet the older man’s friendly, sparkling eyes. “No,” he whispered. The quietest he had ever been.

Yien sweetened the deal. “Whatever you want, just name it. Think of your most outrageous dream and I promise I can make it true.”

“No,” Seungmin repeated. He was shaking. Just a little. But enough for Chan to notice. “I said no to you back then and I am saying no to you now.”

“Is it money,” Yien questioned. “Name any price. I’ll have the cash transferred to your--”

Seungmin blurted out, “What good is material things gone do for me if ya ain’t gone put no heart behind it?” And that one sentence exhausted all of his courage. He was a tall man but he physically shrank in size when he slumped his shoulders and curled in on himself.

Yien’s pretty smile vanished. Irritation darkened his gaze. “Now, Seungmin, we don’t have to yell. I’m asking nicely. Please reconsider. Become my apprentice.”

Chan raised his left hand. Or he would have if Minho weren’t still clutching on to it so tightly. He reached out his right hand instead, grabbed Seungmin by his elbow and pulled until the young man unhinged his fingers from the counter’s edge and stepped backwards behind Chan. 

“He can’t be your apprentice,” Chan said firmly, “because he is  _ my _ apprentice.”

Jisung looked over at him, eyes as wide as saucers.

Hyunjin’s worried face turned hopeful.

Seungmin squeezed his eyes shut in desperately prayed-for relief.

Even Minho let a smile crawl across his lips.

On the other hand, the displeasure was clear on Yien’s face. His entire countenance soured as it dawned on him that getting what he wanted wouldn’t be as easy as asking for it. He kept his eyes firmly on Seungmin. “Think about it, little one. And I mean think very carefully. Think of all of the things I can teach you. Think of all of the opportunities you will have to hone your magical skills and work on your business management abilities. Imagine the life you can lead if you were with me. Imagine the networking and the salary and the bonuses.” Then he lowered his voice. Not in volume but in tone, as if the crystal bell cheerfulness he’d spoken with up until now was all an act and he was chucking it away. “Now think of all of the things you won’t be able to get if you stay,” he practically spit the next few words out, “in a place like this.”

Seungmin audibly swallowed. When he spoke, his voice was as wispy and thin as the wind. “I’ve made ma choice,” he declared. He clamped a hand down on Chan’s shoulder for support, squeezing so tightly that it hurt. Seungmin said, “I don’t need to be just anyone’s apprentice. I need to be Chan’s.”

“Just anyone’s,” Yien repeated, practically snarling. “I’m not  _ just anyone _ . I’m  _ the _ Yien Tuan!”

“And that’s the one bit you don’t seem to be understanding.”

Chan jumped at the low, scratchy voice. He looked around only to be startled all over again by the fact that Changbin was standing next to him. How long had he been there? How much of the conversation had he overheard?

Changbin said, “When an apprentice picks a master, they are choosing their own family. Not their own boss. That makes all the difference.” Beneath his winged eyeliner and black hair cutting severely across his forehead, his gaze was focused and sharp. “I didn’t choose to become Minho’s apprentice because of his store hours and employee benefits. I chose him because of how strongly he believes in me.”

Seungmin found his courage again. He found his Jeju island boldness again. He stepped from around Chan so that there would be one less thing between him and Yien Tuan. “I didn’t choose you because you’re like a fog hiding jagged rocks. I chose Chan cuz he’s like the sun revealin’ the true colors of everything he shines on.”

Really. Was no one else terribly shocked by the fact that Changbin was standing there? How had he gotten into the shop? How long had he been standing with them? “Guys,” said Chan, his nerves turning his forehead clammy with sweat. “Every witch does things differently. There is no right or wrong when it comes to an apprenticeship.”

Now Changbin was standing next to Minho. “No matter the circumstances, I’d pick Minho over and over. He sees me for who I am and doesn’t judge me.”

“And now that I’ve met him, now that I know ‘em, I’ll pick Chan over and over,” Seungmin said. “Because a master is supposed to love  _ and _ teach their apprentice. Ain’t that the one right way for an apprentice to reach their full potential?”

There was a very brief moment of complete silence in the shop. Not just because everyone had stopped talking but because time itself seemed to temporarily pause. The space between the  _ tick _ of the grandfather clock in the corner and the follow-up  _ tock _ was so long that even Chan noticed and looked over at it.

Then there was a horrendous amount of noise. 

Something leaped out of Seungmin’s chest in a flurry of bright white light and rapid movement.

Everyone jumped back, surprised. Even Yien pushed himself off of the counter and took a preemptive step backwards into one of the aisles.

There was a painfully loud  _ quaaaaack quack quack quack  _ as a white-feathered orange-billed duck tumbled across the countertop before managing to get its webbed feet beneath it. It stood up, wings flapping, craning its neck one way and then the other to assess its brand new surroundings.

“What on Bird’s green earth is that?” Chan asked.

“Chicken!” Hyunjin screeched, entirely wrong.

“It’s a duck,” Jisung stated, closer but no cigar.

“It’s his familiar,” Minho said calmly. 

“Oh, now I feel bad cuz I just got done cookin’ one of ya,” said Seungmin. He stepped closer to the cash wrap and the duck, fluffing its fine white feathers, waddled to the edge of the counter to press its head to Seungmin’s outstretched palm. “And Hyunjin’s got the right idea. I think I’m going to name you Chicken.”

“Chicken is quite the distasteful name for a duck,” Minho complained.

“Says the man who named his snake Daisy,” said Chan.

Yien sighed dramatically. “Well, if his familiar has awakened then you may indeed be the better choice here, Chan.” He was back to speaking like how he used to. Chime-like and twinkling instead of low and cloying and thick. “I shall leave you in his care,” Yien said. But there was still something harsh in his gaze, there was still tension scrunched up at the base of his nose. This wasn’t exactly over yet. He wasn’t honestly, truly admitting defeat. “I would love to keep an eye on him, to see how far he will actually be able to go under your tutelage.” He turned around only to let out a shriek of utter fright.

Yongbok had been standing right behind him and the yellow-eyed boy was so slight in frame and so, so quiet, that Chan had no idea how long the boy had been hidden behind the sheer volume of Yien’s coat. “Hello,” Yongbok said cheerily. 

Fortunately, Yien regained his composure rather quickly. He stared into Yongbok’s eyes for an almost uncomfortably long duration but of course it would be weird little Yongbok who would win any and all staring contests. Yien blinked and spun away from the freckled boy. “How on earth did you manage to acquire such a thing?”

Chan realized a moment too late that Yien was addressing him. “Huh? What?”

“Wait until you see the mimic,” Jisung said.

Surprise almost flitted across Yien’s face but he wrestled the expression back beneath his usual kind yet intimidating smile. “I am going to look into you, Chan,” he said brightly. It was very odd how such simple words came across as a complex threat. “After seeing what I’ve seen today…” He trailed off, his gaze wandering from Yongbok to Hyunjin to Jisung to Changbin before settling heavily on Chan. “...there is no way you aren’t hiding something and I am going to find out what that is.”

Chan started to step out from behind the counter.

“No, no, no,” said Yien, wagging a finger. “I can let myself out. I will see you all later.” He turned to step up one of the aisles towards the front of the store, his coat billowing behind him. He called out, “I really, truly hope that you all have the best of days.”

Yongbok slinked after the man, following him around the end of the aisle and out of sight. There was the heavy click of the front door unlocking and the howling rush of air and the jingle of a bell as the door was flung open.

No one seemed capable of moving or breathing until they all heard the door shut and Yongbok sauntered back up the aisle. “If I didn’t hate cars so much, I totally would have hitched a ride in his swanky car.”

Chan leaned to his right a little so that he could peer down the aisle and out the shop’s front window. He looked just in time to watch a gleaming black car pull away from the curb. It  _ was _ a swanky car.

“What have you gotten us into  _ now _ , District Witch?” Minho practically slumped against the counter. He would have slipped all the way down to the floor if he wasn’t still holding on to Chan’s hand so tightly. If he wasn’t still reading Chan’s palm.

Jisung ran a hand through his orange hair, somehow managing to look unbothered by all of this. “Chop, chop, Chan. Let’s get these resident requests answered. Sooner I start deliveries, the sooner I’m back and I want something spicy for lunch.”

Chan was still full from breakfast. He couldn’t even think about lunch at the moment. “We will see.”

“Minho are you alright?” Changbin knelt to the ground next to Minho and massaged the witch’s back with a hand. Surprisingly, instead of swatting his apprentice’s hand away, Minho merely relaxed into the touch.

Seungmin turned away from where he had been petting Chicken. It may have been a trick of the light, but it looked like there was a tear or two caught on his bottom lashes. “Thank you so much, Chan. I ain’t never meant that as much as I do right now.”

“Really, I didn’t do anything--”

“You did more than you think you did,” said Seungmin. “I was this close--” He pinched his index and thumb finger together, “--to givin’ in to the white-wearin’ feather licker.” Then, rather abruptly, he threw both arms around Chan’s shoulders and pulled the man into a hug. “I almost went with him, but ya stood up for me and that made me stand up for me.”

It confused Chan a little. Under any other circumstances, he would have loved to see someone he knew be chosen as  _ the _ Yien Tuan’s apprentice. If he had grown up a little differently and studied a little harder, he might have been able to become Yien Tuan’s apprentice himself! But for some odd reason, despite his better judgment, he stepped in the way and kept Seungmin from such an opportunity. “I shouldn’t have,” he muttered.

Seungmin loosened his hug. He reached up a hand and thumped it over the top of Chan’s curly hair like he was petting a big ole dog. “I’m yer apprentice now,” he said with the widest, brightest grin.

“Didn’t I tell you,” said Yongbok from the other side of the counter. “I told you.”

“Now that ya did.” Seungmin pulled away from Chan only to return his attention to Chicken, who still kept up all of that noisy quacking.

  
Hyunjin tried to whisper. He really truly did. It was just that he never really got much practice. “Channie,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I don’t like that guy who just left. He’s so not nice.  _ So _ not nice.”


	9. Seungmin In The Building

It was nearly eight o’clock in the morning--nearly right on the dot!--which meant that, no matter what celebrity guest had just come by for an unexpected visit, Chan’s Tchotchkes must still open on time. Coven’s rules.

So Chan gave all the beautiful people around him one task to complete before they opened:

He told Hyunjin to take the broom and sweep the dust up off of the floor, though Chan fully expected very little sweeping to get done.

Jisung was supposed to take a bucket and rag and wash all of the big windows, something Chan figured he’d be full of curses about not wanting to do, but the orange-haired boy obediently went to work.

Yongbok’s task was to wipe off the cash wrap. The bare minimum of elbow grease required. Something that wouldn’t take him long so that he wouldn’t complain or try to get a nap in.

Seungmin’s job was to straighten the items up on the shelves. He was probably the best suited for the task. The one who could best do the work without causing any explosions.

Watching all of them bustling about left Minho with the urge to say something a little wild. “It’s almost like you have multiple apprentices.”

Chan shook his head quickly. Even the thought was preposterous. “Come now. Don’t be silly. I don’t have an apprent--” It was a knee-jerk reaction. Months and months of conditioning. He stopped himself, cleared his throat and tried again. “I only have one apprentice.” And that wasn’t even official-official yet. Well, it was official but not in the way that officially mattered. 

Minho sighed and turned his head towards Changbin, who had offered to help Seungmin move a particularly heavy box of crystal chunks. The two apprentices talked animatedly with each other, getting along exceptionally well for up-and-coming witches that were technically, maybe, possibly, kinda sorta supposed to be rivals.

Minho said, “I think I finally see in you what they see in you, District Witch.”

Chan wasn’t all too sure if that was a compliment or not and he definitely did not want to ask and give Minho the fuel to insult him. It was too early in the morning for more of that! Instead, Chan thought about his own long list of tasks that he needed to accomplish today. His top priority would be starting on the big stack of his replies to all of the resident request letters and handing everything off to Jisung so that the kid could go and deliver everything. To answer all of those letters meant Chan needed a stack of paper and his favorite ink pen. 

Which meant he needed to be able to use both of his hands.

“By the way, Minho,” Chan said quietly, calmly, “are you done reading my palm yet?”

Minho turned to look at him. His mouth was downturned in a mildly displeased frown. His eyebrows were furrowed with a smidgen of irritation. “Reading your palm,” he repeated, as if he didn’t even know what those words meant.

“Yeah,” Chan said. “Remember out on the sidewalk, you said you wanted to read my palm, and then you--” He shook their joined hands, their interlocked fingers.

Minho didn’t even glance down. He just stared at Chan with his lips slightly parted, a word right on the tip of his tongue.

Chan continued regardless, “For palmistry to be your specialty, it sure is taking you a while. You’ve been working on it for quite some time already.”

“You’re being completely serious, aren’t you?” 

“Are my heart lines particularly difficult to parse?”

Minho turned away. “I forgot that this is what I signed up for.”

Chan tilted his head. “Hmm?”

“The Big Blue Bird could have given me anyone else but she gave me you.” Minho twisted around and looked Chan in the eye. “And I think I’m okay with that.”

Chan got the feeling that they were having two entirely different conversations here. “What do you mean?”

Minho put his free hand on Chan’s shoulder and guided the District Witch backward until his spine was against the cash wrap. “District Witch,” he said sternly, heatedly, but then his expression softened and even his tone lost it’s several sharp edges. “I mean, Chan. Can I ask you something?”

Chan swallowed. Unsure of…  _ Afraid _ of what to make of this new softness that Minho kept purposefully showing to him. As if he was being vulnerable in front of Chan on purpose. “Anything,” the District Witch said after a long pause.

They stood very close together. Almost chest to chest. Because of the lack of distance between them, Minho lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “If I let go of your hand, will you promise me that I can always grab hold of it again?”

And it was such a strange request that Chan could only stand there and blink. Minho wanted to grab hold of Chan’s hand? Intentionally? Chan wasn’t sure this whole palm-to-palm thing worked all too well. It seemed like such an inefficient palm-reading method, a fact that was made clear by how long it took Minho to do it this morning. He still didn’t seem to be done! Wasn’t that--

“Chan,” Minho cut in. “I’m standing right in front of you and I can  _ see _ you missing the point. Though I suppose this is my own fault for misleading you.”

Chan looked up into Minho’s dazzling brown eyes. Minho was so pretty that it hurt. The kind of pretty that couldn’t be real. Yet Minho was very real. And very warm. And very close. “What is your point, Minho?”

“If I let go right now, can I hold your hand again in the future,” Minho reiterated. 

“Uhh, sure, I guess,” Chan said. “If you want to get better at reading--”

“Listen to me,” Minho interrupted. The softness in his expression slowly disappeared. Not because it was replaced by anger or displeasure or annoyance like Chan fully expected, but because Minho became  _ determined _ . As if there was something right in front of him that he wanted. As if he’d stop at nothing to get it. “I want to hold your hand, Chan. It has absolutely nothing to do with reading your palm and everything to do with wanting to be close to you.”

“Okay. That doesn’t seem like--”

Minho leaned in close. “I am being serious. I want to be close to you. I do not care about reading your palm. I just want to show you your future.”

And Chan’s body reacted before his brain did. His heart rate spiked and he could suddenly feel every sweaty speck of skin where Minho’s hand was pressed up tight against his own, where Minho’s fingernails were driven almost possessively into the back of Chan’s hand. 

“And maybe,” Minho half-whispered. “You can tell me what my dreams mean.”

“I thought you didn’t have dreams, Minho?”

“I have one.”

And maybe Chan understood something. Definitely not all of it at the same time, but just a tiny little piece of it. One more piece of the machinery clicked into place in his head and it left Chan boiling over to ask one very bold question. He looked into Minho’s face and said, “Why are you being so nice to me?” Because Minho’s calmness... It felt almost… misplaced, being directed at Chan like this. What had changed between them? And when? Because Chan wasn’t sure he had noticed until now. Wasn’t sure how long it had been going on.

Minho replied with the one thing Chan never thought he’d hear from him: “Because you’re a good witch, Chan.”

Oh.

Minho asked him a third time, “Can I hold your hand again?”

Completely lost for words, Chan just stood there. He could only faintly hear the others laughing and talking but it was almost as if the world, for just a moment, was only big enough for him and Minho. Chan’s eyes went wide in shock. His mouth fell half-open. His heart shook. “Of course,” he said. “You can hold my hand whenever you need to.”

They were standing too close together for Minho to properly hide it. He looked so relieved. He almost  _ smiled _ . Slowly, Minho unhooked their fingers and then let go of Chan’s hand. But it didn’t feel like a parting. It felt like a promise.

Then, just like that, Minho was back to his usual self. Sharp. Efficient. Just not as ice-cold. “Changbin,” he called out. He turned around to walk up one of the aisles. “Changbin!”

“Yes, Minho?” Changbin’s low, gravelly voice shot from the other side of the store. From the other side of one of the shelves.

Minho said, “Look at the time. We need to go. Let’s get that new display case built.”

“Yessir,” Changbin called out. His voice drifted in from a different angle, as if he’d impossibly moved to the other side of the store since the last time he spoke. 

“It’s Monday so expect a crowd,” Minho stated. Not snappy and harsh like he would have been a week ago. Yet still even. In control. 

“Right,” Changbin agreed. Now his voice was loud and sharp and close.

One moment, Minho had been standing at the end of the aisle by himself.

The next moment, Changbin was at his side.

Chan wiped at his eyes. Perhaps he’d blinked and missed the moment Changbin had come around the end of the aisle. Or something. 

Or something.

“See you, Chan,” Changbin called out over his shoulder, then he followed Minho out of the shop’s front door. The jangling bell and a gust of chilly, December wind signaled their exit.

☆★

With Seungmin and Jisung taking up the brunt of customer service during those first few molasses-slow hours, Chan sat at the cash wrap, fresh mug of coffee near his hand, and wrote out his replies to the District residents. It was slow-going and he knew a lot of people were waiting on his words, but if he took his time, he was sure he’d be far more satisfied with what he wrote than if he rushed things.

In one letter, a man had discovered that his backyard had turned into a sort of meeting ground for the neighborhood’s stray cats. They hadn’t damaged his property, yet, but he was concerned that they would some day in the future. It was a tough question to answer, as Chan had his own stray cat problems. However, he also knew that creatures of power tended to gather around places where mana pooled and gathered. Chan prescribed a bag of seeds. The special winter-blooming flowers would scatter mana back into the air and establish flow. If the cats didn’t follow the new current away from the yard, Chan suggested that the man start up his education in witchcraft.

In another letter, a resident described her career as an artist. Fresh out of school. She was struggling to find her style, to find her  _ place _ , and was participating in numerous community projects around the District in hopes of gaining popularity and attention. Although she was succeeding in getting her name out there, keeping track of the numerous deadlines overwhelmed her, she was constantly on the edge of creative burnout and she was pushing herself so hard that she could hardly get to sleep at night with all the pain that kept shooting up her forearm to her wrist. Chan wasn’t entirely sure he could help soothe her worries about being as good as her peers or as popular as other artists, but he did prescribe to her a salve that may soothe the ache in her wrist.

Chan folded up the last letter, slipped it into an envelope and was about to call Jisung when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye.

He glanced down and let out a half-shout of surprise.

Yongbok was kneeling on the floor in front of Chan’s stool. He was almost entirely hidden in the shadow beneath the cash wrap and Chan only really saw him because of the odd way the light reflected off his yellow eyes.

“What are you doing down there, buddy,” Chan asked.

Yongbok said, “Waiting for you to pay attention to me.”

There was no telling how long he had been down there, on the floor, peering up at Chan. Chan reached out a hand and smoothed down a lock of black hair standing straight up on Yongbok’s head. “Well, I’m paying attention to you now. What’s up?”

“A lot of things. A lot of things are up.”

“Well, what’s the most important thing?”

“Me.”

“Ahh. Fair.”

“I’m very important, Chan. You should know.”

“I do know.”

“You’re always looking three or four steps ahead so it’s really hard for you to see what’s right in front of you. You need someone to be looking right in front of you, Chan.”

“Okay,” said Chan, not sure what to make of Yongbok’s weirdness. Every time he thought he understood, something like  _ this _ happened. He ran his hand through Yongbok’s hair again in an attempt to smooth down a pesky patch of flyaway hair.

“That’s why I’m here,” Yongbok continued, his voice low like a cat’s purr, “to be right in front of you and see things and tell you about the things I see. I was made for this. And naps. I was also made for naps.”

Chan narrowed his eyes. “What’s that you’ve got there?” He braced himself for another dead bird. A dead rat. Anything. It could be  _ anything _ when it came to Yongbok.

Yongbok lifted his hand and uncurled his fingers to reveal what he was clutching in his fist. It was the blue ribbon choker Chan had made for him last week. Yongbok said, ”It fell off a few days ago and I was wondering if you could put it on again.”

Easy enough. Though he feared how much noise Yongbok would keep up with it now. “Sure,” said Chan.

Yongbok put his hands on Chan’s thighs and then hauled himself out from beneath the counter. Then he swung one leg and then the other over Chan’s legs and made himself comfortable on Chan’s lap. 

Chan grunted beneath Yongbok’s weight. A dozen complaints sat down on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to tell Yongbok that there was another stool right over there, that Yongbok could stand on his two legs, that he was heavy and Chan was nowhere near as strong as he looked, but he slipped the ribbon out of Yongbok’s hands and got to work anyway. “How did this get so dirty,” he had to ask.

“I like exploring,” Yongbok responded, as if that answered everything. He looked right into Chan’s eyes, unblinking. “Everywhere is dirty.”

Chan used his thumb to wipe off most of the dirt and smudges, then he held the ribbon up to Yongbok’s neck, wrapped it around his throat and tied it into a neat bow at the nape of Yongbok’s neck. “Alright. It’s back on. Do a better job of keeping up with it, alright?”

“Can’t make any promises.” Yongbok rolled off of Chan’s lap and then jumped down to the floor.

Jisung shouted, “It’s almost ten o’ clock, old man. If I don’t get a hexing move on, I’m going to be late for lunch.”

“Calm down, Jisung,” Chan said. “One more letter and then you’ll be good to go. Give me five minutes.”

Jisung pointed two of his fingers at his own eyes and then hooked them around to point in Chan’s direction. “You’re on thin hexing ice.”

“Five minutes,” Chan repeated. 

“I’ll be counting,” Jisung shot back.

“Counting?” Hyunjin screeched from the other side of the shop. “I love counting. Can I count? I want to help count! What are we counting?” He came around the end of the aisle so quickly that he slid quite some distance on his socks across the floor. He struggled against his own balance to keep running up towards Jisung. “We have to go slow when we get to the thirties, though.”

Jisung slung an arm around Hyunjin’s neck. “Do you see this,” he asked Chan. “We’ll both be counting. We’ll both be holding you… ac _ count _ able.” Then he looked up at Hyunjin. “How many seconds is five minutes again?”

“A thousand,” Hyunjin yelled, jumping up and down. “I’m so good at counting to a thousand.  _ So _ good.”

That wasn’t correct, both the number of seconds and Hyunjin being good at counting to a thousand, but if it would give Chan the time he needed, he’d let the boys believe it. “I’ll be right back.” He stood up and went down the hall behind the cash wrap to his office.

He didn’t think he would ever need such a form so he knew better than to search his office for one. It’s not like he had one on hand, so Chan had to boot up his computer and go onto the coven’s website and log in as a District Witch to download the file. Then he printed out the three-page application and went to work filling out the necessary tidbits.

He skimmed over the contents of the paragraphs. He was certain he hadn’t read one of these since his time with Sunmi. The wording hadn’t changed all too much, he quickly noticed, but there were minor differences that he took note of on a separate sheet of paper.

“Seungmin,” he called out of his open office door. Then, when he didn’t hear a response, he raised his voice a little. “Seungmin, can you come here for a moment?”

“Does a mint green llama spit midnight blue,” he heard the island boy yell back. “I heard ya the first time!”

It took a few more moments, but the redhead poked his head around the corner of the door.

“Come on in,” Chan instructed him. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

Seungmin snorted. “I ain’t afraid of comin’ into nah office.” He strolled into the room boldly, his long black shirt billowing behind him almost like a cape. “I just wanted to sneak a peek at ya being all smart-lookin’ and studious up in here. You should get a pair of glasses to really sell the whole thing.” He sat down in the chair across from Chan’s desk. “What can I do ya for?”

A bit too late, Chan realized that he probably should have straightened up his office before he called Seungmin back here but it was a bit too late to worry about organization and cleanliness now. Chan slid the pages across his desk towards Seungmin. “Take this with you and look everything over. Then bring it to me tomorrow morning.”

Seungmin looked down at the papers. He stared at them for so long and sat so still that Chan was certain he’d have to spend some time explaining everything but-- “Hand me a pen,” Seungmin said, holding out a hand.

Chan pulled one out of his pen holder and placed it on Seungmin’s palm. “Don’t you want to properly read the contract--”

“I ain’t gone properly read squat diddly.” Seungmin yanked the pen out from between Chan’s fingers. “I’ve been tellin’ ya for days that I want to be your apprentice and no one else’s.” He scribbled his name across the dotted line. “So it’s about time you pulled out all this here paperwork and what have ya.” He scribbled his signature across another dotted line on one of the other pages. 

“Still,” Chan said, “don’t you think you should look things over a little longer and really think things through?”

“In case you forgot,” Seungmin cut in, “I’ve done read these official apprenticeship paper thingamajigs once already and the only thing that’s done changed between a few days ago and now--” He lifted up the paper and pointed to Chan’s own signature at the bottom of the page. “--is this right here. And  _ this right here _ is all I need to be concerned with.” He stacked up the papers nice and neat, lined up the corners beneath Chan’s stapler and used his fist to get the job done. “Bam! Now it’s official-official. Ya done put a ring on it now, Chan. Got down on one knee and everything.”

“The paperwork still has to be sent off,” Chan told him. “And I only trust one person to get it there in a timely manner.”

Seungmin smiled nice and wide, showing off his cute front teeth. “Can I plop the wax seal stamp thing on it? I always wanted to do the smooshing.”

It took a little longer than five minutes, but when Chan and Seungmin got back to the front of the shop, it didn’t really seem like Jisung or Hyunjin cared too much about all of the extra seconds they took.

Jisung was loading up his bottomless backpack with all of the letters and packages for his run. Hyunjin, on the other hand, was using a marker to trace patterns of his splayed-out hand onto the wall.

Chan sighed. That would take some serious scrubbing. “Jisung. I’ve got one more letter for you.”

“I’ll just add the price to your fee,” Jisung said. He stepped up to Chan but then his smile faded and faded as he looked at the envelope in Chan’s hand. “Hey. Wait a minute. You tried to get me to deliver one of these hexing things before. It’s got the same wax seal on it and everything.”

“It’s not what you think it is,” Chan told him. “Just take the letter, Jisung. Deliver it to Coven HQ.”

Jisung’s frown increased in size. “I’m not taking that.”

Chan exhaled through his nose.

Fortunately, Seungmin came to his rescue. “If ya don’t ease up with all that barkin’ and snarlin’, it’ll be real easy to confuse ya for a dog.”

Chan explained himself, “It’s my paperwork for taking on an apprentice, Jisung. Deliver that and Seungmin and I will be official-official.”

Jisung didn’t look entirely convinced. He snatched the envelope out of Chan’s hand and sniffed it as if it were possible to detect secret resignation letters that way. When he looked up at Chan, there was a glassiness to his eyes. Like he was about to make himself so mad he was going to cry. “You aren’t trying to hexing play me for a fool, are you?” His voice got paper thin. “You aren’t lying to my face again, are you?”

Chan raised both of his hands gently to Jisung’s face and used his thumb to wipe away the tiny little tear trying to sneak it’s way down Jisung’s right cheek. “I’m not lying.” Then, a little louder, he said, “I’m not leaving.” He turned his head. “Boys! All of you! Gather around.”

Hyunjin stopped his wall doodling and wandered up towards him. Yongbok--had he always been lounging on his back on top of that shelf?--hopped down to the floor to join their huddle. 

Now that he had all of their attention, Chan said, “I’m not leaving you guys. Do you hear me?” He looked at each of them in turn. “Jisung. Hyunjin. Yongbok. Jeongin. Seungmin. I’m not leaving. You’ll always have me.” He turned back to Jisung. He still had his hands on the boy’s face and he could feel how tense Jisung’s face was, like he was struggling to hold back tears. Like he was struggling to believe. So Chan said it again. Just for him. “I’m not leaving.”

Seconds too late, the information clicked in Chan’s head.

He pulled away from Jisung. “Wait. Jeongin?” He looked up towards the closest aisle.

Sure enough, Jeongin was there, poking his head around one of the shelves like he was trying to eavesdrop.

Yongbok rolled his eyes. “I knew I smelled sneeze. I just thought it was Hyunjin’s stinky marker.”

One by one, the other boys turned to stare at the mimic.

When he realized he was the center of attention, Jeongin gasped. “Wait, you can see me?” He looked down at his hands and then gasped so hard he nearly choked. “Why am I not invisible?” He looked up at Chan, wide-eyed. “I haven’t eaten any fear or sadness or despair lately. I must be low on magic.” Jeongin frowned. “Quick! Someone get upset!”

“Ooh oohh ooohh! I’ll do it! I’ll do it!” Hyunjin curved his fingers into claws and growled. “Rawwwr!”

Silence.

Then Jeongin said, “Someone who means it.”

“Why do you want to eat anger so bad,” Jisung had to know. “It  _ can’t _ taste good!”

Jeongin sighed and came around the corner of the aisle. “Anger tastes the best out of everything. Besides, eating negative emotions is what mimics do.”

Seungmin’s jaw dropped. “That’s the mimic?”

Jisung looked over at him. “Yeah. You want to help me tie him up? We can sell him to some shady dudes in a back alley for some quick cash.”

“My ancestors,” Jeongin went on as if they weren’t talking about selling him off, “have been feasting on human greed since the beginning of time! They’d make themselves look like treasure and priceless items and then when humans got close, we showed them our true forms. Ahhh. It’s in our very nature to deceive. There’s no emotion sweeter than the fear of a man who just realized that he’s put his arm inside the mouth of a beast.”

Jisung yawned. “Is he gonna rant for a while? I feel like he’s gonna rant for a while.”

“All villains have a monologue,” Yongbok added. He stretched his arms up to the ceiling and groaned as his muscles stretched. Bored, he went off to one of the corners to get his first nap of the day in.

Hyunjin said, “I’m hungry,” and then wandered away to find his jar of peanut butter.

“But times have changed,” said Jeongin. He spoke louder and more dramatically to make up for his dwindling audience. “And treasure chests are no longer as commonplace as they used to be and that’s a real shame.” 

Seungmin poked Chan in the arm. “I can’t tell if I should laugh at him or consider him a threat.”

Chan knew which one Jeongin was, though. A threat through and through.

Jeongin bellowed, “But I figured out that humans treasure other humans about as much as they treasure… well, treasure. And people still get stupidly angry when they realize that the person they are sharing their heart with isn’t the person they need them to be.”

The District Witch realized he was shaking. The wounds from Jeongin’s trickery were still too fresh. Chan could almost feel the injuries reopen. He could almost feel his paranoia creep back in. Would he be able to tell the difference between the people he loved and Jeongin’s cruel disguises? “What do you want, Jeongin,” he snapped. 

Jeongin opened his mouth to answer.

Jisung beat him to it. “He wants to take over the District, be the new Chan, blah blah blah.” He walked away, uninterested.

Seungmin laughed, thinking it was part of the joke, but Chan kept his face stern and expressionless. Just when he thought he had things under control, Jeongin had come back in to disrupt the balance. If he took his eyes off Jeongin for even a second--

“I’ve got the magic left for one more transformation,” Jeongin announced. Then, with little fanfare, he turned around and bolted up the aisle, out of sight.

Chan heard the front door swing open. Great Big Blue! He was not going to let Jeongin get away with this. Chan put a hand into his front pocket to free his wand and started up the aisle.

He didn’t get more than one step forward, though.

“District Witch!” 

Chan winced. Why was Minho always so loud? It felt like his voice was coming from two different places at once.

Minho grumbled, “I will never know peace.”

Chan didn’t know where to turn. Why did it sound like Minho was standing on both sides of him. He took a step backward then leaned into the aisle to his left. Minho stood there, mouth hammered flat into a firm line. But then Chan turned to his right and saw Minho standing there as well. 

Two Minhos.

His worst nightmare.

Both Minhos inhaled sharply and then shouted, simultaneously, “District Witch!”

**Author's Note:**

> @[Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/TheSwingbyJHF)


End file.
